A Guardian Before His Time
by Golden-Flute
Summary: Complete. Before Jack was the Spirit of Winter, he was a boy, a son and a brother. When the Red Coats press-gang the children of Burgess into their ranks, what will Jack have to do in order to save his sister from a fate worse than death? Set during the Revolutionary War. No yaoi/slash.
1. Brothers

Welcome to the first chapter of my story!

**Quick summary:** Before Jack was the Spirit of Winter, he was a boy, a son and a brother. When the Red Coats take the children of Burgess to be their slaves, what will Jack have to do in order to save his sister from a fate worse than death?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Rise of the Guardians… I am merely their humble fan.

**Note:** I should probably note that I, in NO way, hate the British. You all are actually extremely nice people and I have many English friends. When I write about the 'evil Red Coats', I'm writing from the point of view of someone from the American side of the Revolutionary War… these are NOT my personal feelings!

**Note #2:** The timeline for RotG is a little bit contradictory to the apparent timeline of Burgess. According to the Wiki page, Burgess was founded in the late 1790's, but if we are assuming that RotG took place in 2012, the timeline is a little wonky. I took this opportunity to mess with it even more, so this particular story takes place around 1774-76; right during the heat of the Revolutionary War.

Enjoy!

~~GF~~

Jack was awakened rudely as the wagon he was sitting in hit a bump on the crude road. How long he had been in his restless sleep, he didn't know. He looked at his surroundings—or what he could see of them in the light provided by the moon. The wagon he was in was filled with children—boys—from his little settlement called Burgess. The drivers, however, were not his parents. Nor were they the parents of any of the children accompanying him in the dingy carriage drawn by a team of oxen.

The girls had been sent to a different wagon, bound for a different location. All of the girls, but one. Peering to his side, Jack saw his little sister, Mary, who was resting her small head on his chest, un-awakened by the same jolt of the wagon. She stirred gently, but Jack didn't want her to wake up, so he reached a hand up to her short, shaggy hair and ran his fingers through it in the way his mother did for her, and used to do for him when he was her age. Like a charm, it sent her back into a more comfortable doze.

Jack sighed. It wasn't but a few hours before when her hair had been a beautiful sheen that reached past her shoulders. She had been wearing her favorite blue dress that their parents gifted to her on her birthday. She had also worn a smile.

It was amazing how quickly things could change, Jack mused. He thought back to the events of earlier that day.

~~GF~~

The settlement of Burgess was one of the smaller in their territory, and also one of the more remote ones. Swallowed up by a city of trees and forest, the only way in or out of town was the small dirt path that had been carved into the ground by the wagon train that made the initial move to that location. When the settlement was first founded, the only people who lived there were the kinds of people that were needed to make a prosperous society: the doctor, the mayor, the lumbermen, the farmers and the store owner. However, in recent years, the town had been devoid of all men who had gone off to war to fight the British. It was a momentous war, and one worth fighting, but one that Burgess felt in the loss of half of their community.

Left behind were the wives, children, elderly, and previously injured who did their best to get by. With everyone pulling together to keep the system going, life was relatively comfortable. Sometimes there was less food on the table due to much of their crop numbers being sent to the war front to nourish the men, but everyone in town generally lived life as cheerfully as they could.

The farmer's wife, Kessandra Overland was in a particularly difficult position. She was the wife of the farmer of the largest crop farm in the settlement and it was difficult for her to manage it by herself. When it got close to harvesting time, both of her children, strapping, sixteen-year-old Jackson and adorable, ten-year-old Mary, didn't go to school because they had to help at the farm. It was difficult work, but it was a lifestyle that they were used to and even took comfort in because it kept them busy.

In the time that she didn't spend farming, or tending to their barn animals, Kessandra spent cooking sparse meals for her children. Though they didn't live in the lap of luxury, they were better off than many of the people in Burgess because many of the commodities that their animals produced would be spoiled if they had to travel to the front lines. These delicacies, such as fresh milk, eggs and various meats were what made up the majority of their meals. However, the Overland family was known for their kindness and generosity, so much of their food was given to others who were unable to obtain what they could at the over-priced General Store.

Kessandra was cutting the final bits of meat from the bone of a pig that were meant for the smoke house when she heard gunshots nearby. At first, she thought that it was some of the other civilians hunting, so she looked over at Jack and Mary, who were sitting in the corner, where Jack was helping Mary to improve her handwriting, then back down at her own work. When she heard the shots getting closer and a faint screaming, she knew something was wrong. She quietly set down her knife and wiped her hands on her apron.

Jack looked up from the paper he was holding for Mary, "What is it?"

"I don't know," Kessandra said quietly, listening intently. When the screaming grew louder, she could also hear the sound of many horses approaching. With a grimace, she walked to the door, looked to her children and said, "Stay inside," and then opened the door and charged outside.

Jack and Mary sat together for a few more moments when Jack stood up.

"Mama just told you to stay inside!" Mary protested.

"It's okay," he reassured her, "I'm not going outside—I just want to listen at the window."

Mary nodded and relinquished his sleeve to him. Jack crept to the door and then to the window next to it. He put his head close to the closed shutters so the muffled voices from outside became clearer.

"…do you want?" Jack recognized the voice of the old mayor who had been spared a call from the army.

"I want you to gather all of your people here now. We are here to collect your children."

Jack's blood ran cold. That voice definitely had a lilting, British accent to it. What did the enemy want with the children? It didn't even occur to Jack at the time that, at sixteen, he was one of the children that they wanted to round up; he was more worried about his sister. He was usually one to act impulsively, but this time he sensed the importance of listening to a little more of the conversation.

"Why our children?" he heard his own mother shout at the man.

"Our camps are growing larger and we require workers to keep it in order for us," the officer said.

"Are your soldiers so lazy that they are unable to wash their filthy socks on their own? You are all no men at all if you insist on having children do your disgusting work for you." Jack's mother retorted. He had always been proud to be the son of a woman who could speak so bravely against her enemy, but he hoped that her sharp tongue wouldn't get her hurt. Their father was off to war—she was all they had.

"Do not misunderstand, woman," the officer continued, "the work we have in mind will be much more… grueling. I would not wish to tire my own men on such difficult tasks. Now, don't make a fuss, ladies. Kindly retrieve your children. Boys in the wagon on the left, girls in the wagon on the right, if you please."

"Why are they being separated?" Jack heard their mayor ask angrily. He could hear the low timbre of the man's every word quaking with fury. But they were grossly outnumbered; Jack could hear a hundred horses outside. There was no way they could all fight and win.

"The boys will be sent to labor camps and the girls will be sent to the front lines to improve the morale of our men—"

"Whoring." Kessandra said, her voice shuddering with indignation and anger, "You mean to send our children… our _children_… to become your slaves and whores? What men are you that you would reduce yourself to such a disgusting level?"

A gunshot rang out and Jack quickly lifted the shutters to check for his mother, his heart beating fast, terrified at what he might see. She was alright—the shot had merely been a warning.

"Let this be the last warning," the officer said, his voice also raising, "We will check every house before we leave. If you insist on hiding your children, we will shoot them on sight."

"This can't just be for the children," Jack heard the mayor murmur to the elderly baker nearby, "They want to lower our own morale."

Jack had heard enough. He pulled his ear away from the door, his eyes darting back and forth as he did some quick thinking. He couldn't care less about being forced into labor—it couldn't be worse than the level of work he had to pull at his own family farm. But his sister… his innocent, ten-year-old sister… he had to do something.

He cast his eyes wildly around the cabin, vaguely aware that Mary was watching him curiously. His eyes rested on the sharp knife his mother had been using to butcher the pig just a few moments earlier. Without a second thought, only reacting on his building adrenaline, he grabbed the knife and rushed to his sister. She looked up at him, eyes wide, and ducked her head instinctively. Jack grabbed a fistful of her chestnut hair and sliced through it in one motion, leaving a large clump of free hair in his hand, and the remaining hair on her scalp much shorter than before.

Mary's hand shot back to the large patch in the back of her hand and felt where the hair was no longer attached.

"What did you do?!" she fumed, standing up indignantly. Jack shushed her quickly and hacked more of her hair off. Mary, over the original shock at what her brother had done, noticed Jack's serious tone. Jack was never serious, so she knew that it was important that she stay still and let him continue his work. She closed her teary eyes as he continued to mercilessly slice her beautiful hair off, creating an uneven look. It would have to do.

Jack set the knife down and grabbed the hem of her blue dress, pulling it over her head, along with her underdress. She covered herself, but it was more from the cold—there was no place for shyness in a one-room cabin. Jacked rushed to the family bureau and opened his own drawer. He grabbed the essential clothes; a shirt, pants, long socks and underwear.

After he walked back to his sister and deposited the heap of clothes onto the abandoned chair, he took the underwear and held it out for his sister to step into.

"That's _your_ underwear. I'm not wearing _your_ underwear."

"_Do it_." Jack hissed. Mary was taken aback—Jack was always about being fun. It wasn't like him to order her to do something so hurriedly… or rudely, for that matter. Mary began sensing that there was more to her brother's madness than she initially thought, so she quickly grabbed his underwear and slid her legs into it, pulling it up to her waist. Jack held out the pants next. They continued to dress her in his clothes, all the while listening to the voices which were growing steadily louder outside.

Finally, Jack stood back and viewed his work. Dressed in his clothes and with short, yet choppy hair, Mary could easily pass for a young boy. In this time of war, it was common for same-gender siblings to share clothes, which meant the ill-fitting clothes on Mary wouldn't be out of place. It was a godsend that she appeared to be an age when boys were still expected to be able to sing soprano. This could work. They just had to be smart and think fast.

Mary looked down to examine herself, tears in her eyes.

"I look like a boy!" she wailed quietly.

"Good," Jack said. He walked to her and put a comforting arm around her shoulder. Then he lowered himself into a crouched position, looking up at his sister and arranging his face so she would understand the severity of their situation, "Listen to me. The Red Coats are going to take us from Mama. But you _can't _let them know that you're a girl."

"Why?" Mary asked. Jack almost considered telling her, but decided against it. She was ten years old and he didn't want her to be introduced to that awful reality just yet, if he could help it.

"They're separating the boys and the girls and I don't want them to take you away from me," Jack replied. He was telling the truth… most of it, anyway. Mary nodded, understanding. Jack thanked God silently that she didn't ask for more details.

There was another gunshot from outside and a loud shout, "Everyone outside, now! If you hide, so help me, you will be sleeping with the worms tonight!"

Jack raised himself from his crouch and hugged his sister, "We'll be alright. I promise." He took her hand in his and the two of them walked outside. Children in the other cabins were also coming out and Jack knew from many of their faces that he hadn't been the only one to listen to the conversation from inside. The settlement was lined with countless redcoats and their horses

The first person Jack looked for was Kessandra. He noticed her wide eyes when she saw Mary's shocking new appearance, but she was a smart woman; she quickly rearranged her face to merely look sad. She ran to the both of them and dropped to her knees to hug Mary first.

"My boys, my boys!" she shouted, sobbing into Mary's shoulder a little louder than she probably would have normally. She pulled back from Mary and adjusted her over-sized collar, "You mind your brother, do you understand?"

Mary nodded. Their mother gave her one last quick hug before she stood up and hugged Jack. Jack wrapped his arms around his mother and felt the tears in his eyes. He wasn't normally one to cry, but as he stood hugging his mother, he couldn't help but wonder if this would be the last time they would see each other.

"Thank you," she whispered in his ear and Jack nodded, understanding. When she pulled away from him, she smoothed the fabric at his shoulders affectionately and said, "I love you. Never forget that."

"I won't," he said. She hesitated a moment and then reached up to the heart-shaped locket hanging at her neck. It was the last valuable item that their family owned. Jack's father had given it to his mother on the day of their wedding.

Jack, sensing her intentions, grabbed her hand that was holding the locket and said, "No, keep it. They'll take it away from me."

"I know," she responded, "But I want it to keep you safe… while it can."

Jack paused for a moment and then nodded, taking the locket and sliding it into his pocket. Having finished their farewells, they looked at the other families taking the opportunity to say their farewells.

"We will find you," their mother said, looking from Mary to Jack, "This won't be forever, I swear it."

"Alright, time's up," one of the lesser officers said, shooting his musket into the air, "Boys, to the wagon on the left, girls to the one on the right. No fusses, unless you want to become acquainted with my musket."

Jack steeled himself, squaring his shoulders and led his sister to the boy's wagon. Mary, either out of fear of discovery or feeling the same desire to show the Red Coats that she couldn't be pushed around, followed suit. When they reached the boy's wagon, an older officer with many badges and a pair of pincer glasses held up a scroll and a quill.

"Name?" he asked Jack without looking up.

"Jackson Overland."

"Age?"

"Sixteen."

"Are you the eldest of the lot?"

Jack looked behind him at the group of scared, wide-eyed younger boys behind him. He looked back at the officer, shrugged and said, "I guess I am."

"Very well. Proceed inside."

Jack took one moment to look back at his mother, whose hands were clasped together and tears running down her face before he turned back and climbed into the covered wagon. Then in a moment, he felt as though his heart had stopped. He hadn't thought of a name for Mary. He listened intently to the man outside the wagon.

"Name?"

Without missing a beat, she answered bravely, "Matthew Overland." Relief washed over Jack as he felt sincere gratitude that his sister had been gifted with Kessandra's ability to think on her feet.

"Age?"

"Ten years."

"Proceed."

Jack was joined by his sister and they sat in silence, Jack with his arm around Mary's shoulder as she cried into his shirt. They were soon joined by the other boys of the settlement. There were far too many—the wagon was so crowded that they were practically sitting on each other's laps.

Finally, after all the boys had been loaded into the wagon, the opening in the back swung shut with a loud, un-oiled creak. Jack could hear mothers sobbing openly in the background and knew that if they tried to do anything, they were looking at a one on twenty fight. Not even Jack's brave mother could beat them all back with naught but her shovel.

"Now yern boys'n better kip quiet er there'll be some tanned hides before we reach camp, understand?" said one particularly crude-looking officer. He didn't wait for an answer from them and instead kicked the back of the wagon loudly and the oxen at the helm grunted into a start, leading the boys away from home.

~~GF~~

"Jack," Mary whispered beside him. She had woken up when Jack became too preoccupied by his thoughts to remember to stroke her hair.

"We'll be okay," Jack whispered back quietly, trying to rearrange his face to look at ease.

Suddenly the wagon stopped and a dozen pairs of young eyes could be seen opening in unison. They had reached their destination. The next few minutes were a blur as the boys were whisked out of the wagon and told to stand in a straight line just outside. In the time Jack had to take in his surroundings, he could see that the Red Coat's camp was far into the woods, in a clearing large enough to comfortably house the tents of hundreds of men who were, even at this late hour, bustling around and going on with whatever chores they had been assigned.

Jack made sure to keep a tight hold of Mary's hand so as to not lose her. An old officer in a bright red coat and holding a walking cane began walking down the line and examined the captives, opening their mouths to look at their teeth and looking at their hands to see if there were any signs that they were used to hard labor. He would make remarks to a man behind him, who would record the information on a piece of parchment and then the boys would be dragged off to wherever it was that he had decided to send them. When the officer reached Jack, he gave no warning before he stuck his fingers in Jack's mouth to check his teeth.

"Healthy young man, though a bit on the scrawny side…" the officer said, knocking Jack's knees lightly with his cane. He took Jack's hand and then looked up and down the row of boys, "He's the oldest one here… this boy has seen some hard work. What is your name, lad?"

"Jack."

"Tell me, Jack, what is your father's occupation?"

"Farmer."

"Does your family own any barn animals?"

"Yes."

"Do you know how to answer questions properly; in sentences containing multiple words?"

Jack was too angry to feel embarrassed at this quip, "That depends."

"On what, precisely?"

"On whether or not I think you deserve more of my breath." Jack retorted. Several of the closer boys who were listening giggled. Some looked shocked and others downright scared. Next to him, Mary squeezed his hand. He knew she was telling him in her own way to shut up, but he would have none of it if these men didn't at least treat these boys with some ounce of respect.

The old officer knocked Jack's head lightly with his cane before replying in a dangerously steely tone, "Need I remind you that you are no longer in your mother's care, young man? You are here to aid us however we see fit—"

"—as slaves." Jack said angrily, "I may not be an adult yet, but I'm old enough to understand what's going on."

"Then you would also understand the severity of the situation you are currently talking yourself into, yes?" the old man said. He glared at Jack for a moment with sharp eyes and Jack could see that he was thinking of what he would say next, "Since you are new here and I am in a pleasant mood tonight, I will let you off with a warning. However, you would do well to exercise caution—the other men here may not be as forgiving as myself. Any further insubordination will be met with fierce retaliation, am I understood?"

"…Yes." Jack said finally.

"You will refer to every officer here as 'sir'."

"Yes, sir." Jack amended angrily. Mary squeezed his hand again. It was then that he was struck with the rude realization that if he were to get into trouble, he would not be the only one to suffer. These Red Coats were evil, but he could also see that they were clever. They would easily spot his weakness.

Just as this thought entered his head, the old officer moved on to Mary. She opened her mouth before he even reached his fingers towards her face. He nodded approvingly.

"Good teeth. Young. What's your name?"

"Matthew, sir."

The old man's eyes moved to see that she and Jack were holding hands.

"Your brother?"

"Yes, sir. Please don't hurt him. He's stupid, but he's a good worker." It was Jack's turn to squeeze her hand, annoyed.

"If he stays out of trouble, trouble will not come to him. Are you also familiar with farm animals?"

"Yes, sir," Mary answered quickly. Jack knew that it was a downright lie. While Mary often helped to harvest the crops, even through the war, their mother had always refused to let Mary anywhere near the barn, preferring to teach her more lady-like things such as sewing and painting.

"Very good," the old man said, reaching over and taking the scroll from the scribe. He made a quiet remark to the man about the horrible state of his spelling before grabbing the quill and scratching something new next to their names himself, "You both will be working in our barn. Our previous farmhand died a few weeks ago of smallpox, so we are shorthanded on those knowledgeable about the care of farm animals."

"Short by how many… sir?" Jack asked.

"…All of them," the old man checked the scroll, "You two will be solely in charge of their care and comfort. Be warned; this means that you share the blame with no one should any of them die or contract a disease. Off with you. Show them to the barn," he said to a guard behind him and the guard reached out and grabbed Jack and Mary. His hand wrapped completely around their biceps and they were dragged off in the direction of the makeshift barn at the other end of the clearing.

~~GF~~

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Any reviews or what have you are welcome. Chapter postings will be a bit erratic since I'm essentially writing this in between classes (Yarg, I be a teacher). ;)


	2. Franklin

_Hello! I present to you chapter two, finished WAY earlier than I imagined! I'm basically posting these as soon as I finish them, so I apologize if there are any errors. If I catch them later, I'll fix them. Hope you enjoy the second chapter! Return of the Guardians does not belong to me._

~~GF~~

Jack had never seen so many mistreated animals in his life as he did when he first stepped foot in the Red Coat's rickety barn. He took in his new workplace, which was lit with several lanterns. It was a relatively roomy one-level, with a loft for storage. It would also make a good, warm place to sleep for Mary and himself, Jack thought. The Red Coats' intention to stay camped here for a long time was apparent in the amount of work that looked to have gone into the foundation, but the rest of the barn was shoddy and full of holes. It was obvious that those who had built the barn had no clue what they were doing past the groundwork.

Of the animals there, Jack noted several horses, two cows, a dozen hens, a flock of sheep, three goats and a number of pigs. Jack could only guess how many towns had been raided for the British supply of farm animals to be this plentiful. After taking note of the number of animals now in his care, Jack then noticed the appearance of the animals. The old officer had been right when he said that their knowledge of large animals was little, because these animals were barely held together with what muscle they had left. The horses looked well worked-out, but they were covered in cuts and scrapes. One mare was swollen around the left rear fetlock joint.

"As you can see, you'll have your work cut out for you," the officer who had escorted them to the barn spoke to Jack, who had nothing to say as he stared, open-mouthed at the poor animals before him. He walked to one of the cows and rubbed his hand along her back.

"When was the last time the cows were milked, sir?" he asked.

"…A few days ago, I believe," the officer answered. This particular officer seemed relatively kind-hearted and Jack's innate sense of character could tell that as long as he remained polite, this guard would stay civil.

"They need to be milked every day or they will get infected, sir."

"No use telling me; it's _your_ job now. Orders are you are to stay here. Do not exit the barn unless to use the outhouse, when the slaves are called for supper, or when an officer requests that you aid him elsewhere. You will have two meals a day and if you are caught stealing food, you will be severely punished. You are being given an incredible amount of freedom for slaves, but if you are caught escaping, we will track you down and have you killed. No exceptions. That is all."

With that, the guard turned around and shut the large barn doors behind him, leaving Jack and Mary alone for the first time in several hours. The second they were sure they were alone, Mary curled herself into a ball where she stood, put her head in her knees and started to cry openly. Jack crouched next to her and rubbed her back soothingly. When, after a few minutes, she showed no sign of moving, he gently picked her up and carried her over to a pile of hay and lay her in it. She curled into a fetal position and continued to weep.

"It's alright, Mary," Jack said brightly, trying to ease the tension of their situation. He stood up and looking around, "It's not that bad. This barn is a lot like the one at home. We've got it to ourselves. And I'm good at taking care of animals—we'll get by. It'll be alright."

"I miss Mama," Mary's voice shook between sobs, "This barn isn't like the one at home because Mama's not across the way. I want Mama."

"I know you do. I do too," Jack admitted. This wasn't something he would normally admit, but he felt that showing Mary that he understood was the best way to calm her and show her that they were in this thing together.

"Are we going to die here?" Mary asked as a wind promised with winter flew through the cracks of the barn and caused the lanterns to flutter. Mary's question haunted Jack; she was so young and he wished that he could have found a way to keep her from this reality. Jack's quick thinking had saved her from a worse fate, but to wake up in the morning with freedom and to lose it before sleep took you that night was a horrible realization. It grew and festered in the pit of Jack's stomach. But at least they were together. They could get through anything if they had each other.

"Didn't you hear the soldier?" Jack said, "As long as we keep to our work, we'll be fine. And Mama said that they'll find us. I'm sure she's sent a letter to Pa already. Pa'll know what to do."

Mary nodded, giving Jack a weak smile through her tears. She wiped her nose on the sleeve of the over-sized shirt she wore and sat up, brushing hay from her hair.

"Well, there's no use getting to work tonight. It's probably past midnight," Jack said with finality, "We'll wake up tomorrow and milk these poor cows and fix up the horses. I'll show you how to collect the hen's eggs."

Jack's attempt at giving Mary a sense of comfort in a schedule seemed to help relax her and her eyelids drooped a little.

"Hey, don't go to sleep there!" Jack said, shaking Mary back into the waking world, "You'll catch a cold and that won't do us any good. Go up into the loft—it'll be warmer there anyway."

Mary nodded again and made for the ladder that led up to the loft. Jack took a moment to pet the heads and noses of the nearest animals before making a round around the barn to extinguish the lanterns. He didn't put out the final lantern and instead took it with him when he climbed to the overhanging eave himself. The loft was a lot larger than it looked from the ground and there was relatively new hay that had been placed there—most likely this was the sleeping place of the previous farm hand as well. Jack made his way over to where Mary had settled into the hay and curled up next to her, putting an arm around her middle and hugging her close to him. He blew out the candle in the lantern and the barn went dark for the night.

~~GF~~

The loud clucking of the chickens was what woke Mary up the next morning. For a moment, she couldn't remember why she felt so miserable, but when her memories from the previous night returned, the awful feeling in her stomach worsened.

"Jack?" she croaked sleepily, reaching a hand out to feel behind her where Jack had gone to sleep the previous night. All she felt was air.

Before she had time to panic, she heard Jack call from the ground, "You awake, Mary? I'm down here."

Mary crawled down the ladder as quickly as she could. She was never very good at crawling on ladders before but found that it was a lot easier when her legs were freed by Jack's trousers. There was far too much fabric to worry about when she wore her dress that she was all but useless when she looked girly. She found Jack sitting on a stool next to one of the cows. Underneath the cow was a bucket full of milk.

"You already milked the cow?" Mary asked, walking over to Jack and peering in the bucket.

"Yeah, both of them," Jack said, patting the cow's side. "The other cow's milk was no-good… it hadn't been milked a little longer than the soldier said. This one looks okay, though. But maybe we shouldn't use this milk either today, just to be on the safe side."

"Give it to the soldiers." Mary said.

"That'd probably kill some of them." Jack shrugged.

"And?" Mary said impishly.

Jack took a moment to stare at his sister before he laughed and patted her arm, "I knew I liked you."

The rest of the early morning was spent caring for the neglected animals. Jack showed Mary how to collect eggs from the indoor chicken roost and she busied herself with that chore, getting to know the chickens by their coloring. Meanwhile, Jack tended to the horses, some of whom were limping. He hated to see these beautiful animals so hurt. It wasn't so bad that any damage would be permanent, but there were definitely going to be infections to treat for a few days. Luckily, Jack's father had showed him how to perform first aid for animals without getting kicked or bitten.

One of the mares quickly became his favorite. She was a beautiful bay horse with a dark mane and forelock and a white diamond shape on her head. She bore what Jack crudely identified as whiplashes. It was obvious that she had been put through her paces and was paying for it. Jack decided to name her Margaret, after his maternal grandmother. He wasn't sure why, but he felt the name fit. The horse next to Margaret was a tall, jet-black horse that tried to bite Jack when he approached cautiously.

"You'll be Mindy, after my other grandmother," Jack proclaimed to the horse, "She tried to bite me too, once. Granted, I bit her first…" Jack laughed lightly at his youthful memories. When Mindy had tried to get a four-year-old Jack to take a bath, he vehemently refused. She had attempted to force him in the metal tub and he bit her hand. Mindy never forgave him for that and spent the rest of her life showing off the wounds she had obtained in her battles with Jack.

Once all the animals were cared for, the air in the stable cleared a little. Mary had finished collecting the eggs and the two buckets of supposedly sour cow's milk had been dumped. The goat's milk had been fine, though, so Jack set those buckets near the eggs that Mary had placed on the windowsill.

It was then that Jack heard a triangle ring from a small distance away. He hadn't been told what the call was for breakfast, but he assumed that this was it. Mary, who had been preening the sheep's wool, looked up from her work curiously.

"How about some breakfast?" Jack said, standing up and arching his back both ways to pop it. She nodded and they both went outside. It was freezing outside and neither of them had thought to bring a jacket, so they huddled close together to share their warmth. Jack's guess at the breakfast alert had been correct, because he saw other boys, some he knew and some he didn't, walking towards a large tent. The other boys had been assigned jobs that required them to know their way around the camp, so Jack followed them.

When he reached the tent, the cook handed him and Mary each a bowl of a gray-colored gruel.

"Bonny apatite," he said, chuckling at his botched attempt at speaking French. Though he had laughed, the cook was large and had sharp eyes that were as cold as the winter wind. There was nothing friendly about him. Before Jack could take his bowl of gruel and follow Mary, Cook shot a hand out and grabbed his shoulder roughly.

"Boy, where's the food?" he asked gruffly.

"Sorry?" Jack said, slightly annoyed that the jerking stop had caused some of his breakfast to slop over the edge of the bowl and seep into the dirt floor.

"You're the new farmhand, aren't you?" he said, "Them hens all stop giving eggs at once, did they?"

"I didn't realize I needed to bring them here, sir." Jack explained.

"Well, you do," Cook explained.

"Er… the milk was a bit sour, so I threw it away," Jack added delicately, unsure of how the news of wasted food, spoiled or not, would settle with this man. In hopes of redeeming himself, he added, "As soon as the milk is clear, sir, I'll bring it with me."

"And the eggs?"

"Them too, sir. We collected some this morning. I'll bring them here after breakfast."

The cook shook Jack roughly, "You'll bring them here now. I was waitin' on those eggs, boy. Your morning chores aren't done until you bring me those eggs."

With that, he seized Jack's half-spilled bowl of gruel from Jack's hands and pushed him through the tent flap. Jack sighed, frustrated and hungry before making his way back to the barn. Jack remembered vividly being told _not_ to leave the barn; how on Earth was he supposed to interpret that as 'leave the barn to deliver stupid eggs to the stupid cook'? Red Coats…

Margaret whinnied at Jack as he entered the barn and Jack, with his stomach empty, wondered if hers was too. He'd have to ask someone.

Jack returned to the dining tent, his arms laden with the eggs and buckets of goat's milk.

Cook eyed him angrily as he approached and demanded, "I thought you said the milk was spoiled."

"The _cow's_ milk is spoiled," Jack told him, "This is goat's milk."

"We have goats?" the cook said, his eyebrows raising, surprised.

"Yes," Jack answered. Cook _harumf_ed and grabbed the buckets and eggs from Jack.

"Must have lifted those from the town yesterday…" he mumbled as he retreated into the tent. Jack knew those goats looked familiar: they had been the best-kept of the animals and didn't shy away from him when he first approached him as many of the animals had. They were _his_ goats! It hadn't even crossed his mind that some of the soldiers would have been looting his farm while he turned his sister into his brother.

He followed Cook into the tent and walked back to the large pot of gruel, waiting for the insufferable man to serve him again. Cook noticed what Jack was doing and addressed him from across the pot, "No breakfast for you. Let that serve as a warning to do your chores properly tomorrow."

Jack was fed up with this man. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the tent as loudly as he could. It was an unfortunate time to have a dirt floor under him, because it muffled his angry steps and lessened the sound. Once he was outside, he figured he could spend this time asking about food and water for the animals. Hoping to find the officer from the previous night, Jack scanned the faces of the men in the camp, but there were hundreds of them. Finding one man in this sea of red was a near-impossible task. Jack instead looked around at the other structures. There were three other buildings beside the barn and they were all on opposite ends of the camp from each other. Across from the barn was the outhouse. To the barn's left was a building that Jack assumed was reserved for the higher-ranking officers and to the right of the barn was a stable for the military horses.

Making his decision quickly, Jack made off for the stables to see if he could find anyone there to help him. Inside the stable were more stalls than Jack bothered to count. A few men moved around inside, pushing wagons of manure, moving horses from stable to stable and carrying saddles and bridles. Jack selected one man who looked to be the least busy as he was just standing there and stroking the forelock of one particularly large horse.

"Excuse me," Jack began and the man looked at him sharply, thrown off by the different accent, "I work in the barn, but I don't know where to get food and water for the animals."

The man recovered and answered Jack, "You can get water at the pump, which is in the center of camp. You'll have to carry it yourself."

"And food? Grain?" Jack pressed. The man looked to be getting slightly more annoyed at Jack's pestering.

"We put hay in the barn every night," he said as though this solved everything.

"I've got chickens, pigs, goats, cows and sheep. They don't eat hay."

"Oh," the man answered, "Well, there are sacks of grain in the stall at the end of the stable. I suppose you can use that. The grass grows alright here, even in the winter, so whatever wants to can eat that."

"How about the pigs?" Jack chose his final question, "They eat leftovers, but I don't want to ask the cook for anything."

"Just tell him it's for the pigs and he'll give you some." the man said. With this, he gave the horse one last pat before turning and walking away. It was as though they all expected him to know everything the second he step foot in this stupid camp. Jack was getting really tired of this game.

~~GF~~

Mary met Jack at the stable doors. The boys had finished eating and were now heading back to their chores. Meanwhile, Jack had busied himself with grabbing as many bags of feed as he could carry. Mary took the top bag off of the pile without a word.

"Have a good breakfast?" Jack asked.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Jack laughed. "Why on Earth are you sorry?"

"I didn't realize that you weren't there. Are you hungry?"

"A little," Jack said, "But I'll keep until dinner. I'm sure the animals are hungrier than I am. Let's feed them, shall we?"

Mary nodded and they pushed the door open. Inside were an officer and a boy with dark skin whose hair was shaved almost to his scalp. He looked to be about Mary's age with a scrawny build and big, dark eyes.

"Ah, perfect timing," the solider said and Jack recognized him as the guard he had been searching for, fifteen minutes earlier, "This is your new friend. He was taken from a front early this morning. He'll be working with you both for the foreseeable future. Help him to learn his way around the camp."

"It's difficult to show him the ropes if I don't know all of them myself, sir," Jack quipped, annoyed at the level of difficulty he was having with everything that morning.

"Don't talk to me that way, or I'll report you to the General," he said. Jack was taken aback; he hadn't expected this man to return the retort so threateningly. Before he could apologize, the officer left.

"Well," Jack said, breaking the tension and raising his arms as if to show off a home proudly, "Welcome to our humble abode."

The dark-skinned boy scrutinized Jack for a moment before saying, "You don't talk like them."

"We were captured last night, in Burgess," he explained.

"This is my brother, Jack and I'm Matthew," Mary said. "What's your name?"

"Coffee," the boy answered. Mary and Jack looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

"That's a drink," Jack said finally.

Coffee looked at him angrily, "That's the name my old masters gave me."

"You were a slave before, too?" Mary asked, awed. Burgess was a town full of Caucasian people—none of them kept slaves; none of them liked the idea of slavery. Jack liked it even less now that he was experiencing the opposite side of the coin.

"Yeah," Coffee said, "One master to the next. They caught me when I was fetchin' water for the missus." He jerked his thumb towards the barn door.

"Well, I don't like the name 'Coffee'." Mary said after thinking for a while, her thumb to her mouth. "May I give you a new name?"

"Sure. Don't matter to me." Coffee said, shrugging.

"Let's see… how about…" Mary looked around the barn for inspiration before saying, "Franklin. That's my favorite uncle's name. It's also the surname of Benjamin Franklin, who opposes slavery. I learned that last week in school."

The boy thought for a moment before he nodded approvingly. And thus, Franklin became a friend of the two children who gave him his first real name.

~~GF~~

With Franklin helping them, the workload became much easier. Though he revealed himself to have mostly been an indoor slave at his previous home, he was quite knowledgeable about the care of animals. He helped Jack to fix wounds and infections that Jack hadn't been sure how to handle before. He was a hard worker and a nice boy. Jack liked him immediately and especially liked that he was kind to Mary, who was still getting used to this more rough-and-tumble way of living.

It took nearly a week to get a handle of how to work around camp without making anyone mad, but Jack was finally able to keep the animals happy without getting himself into trouble. The hardest thing for him was getting to Cook with the eggs and milk before Cook expected him. The time limit Cook gave him changed every day, varying with Cook's mood. Half the time, he was relatively happy to accept the food with and half the time Jack had to drop the food and run. On those days, Jack learned not to expect a breakfast. But dinner was always there, so he didn't mind much. He also started keeping a few eggs for himself, so as far as he knew, the joke was on Cook.

He knew that she would worry about him getting caught, so Jack didn't tell Mary about his new hoarding habit. He always cooked the eggs up on a makeshift tin over several lantern lights while Mary and Franklin left to have their morning gruel.

As far as Jack knew, Mary's true gender was still a secret to Franklin and while he knew the boy wouldn't tell if he ever found out, he thought it would be safer to keep that skeleton just between himself and Mary.

One morning, when Jack and Franklin were milking the newly healed cows, Mary came running to them from the chicken coop, yelling at them to come see what she had found. Jack and Franklin followed her curiously. Underneath one of the roosts lay five young kittens, nursing from their mother cat.

The mother cat was a beautiful orange and white cat, but she was so thin that Jack wondered exactly how much milk she was able to produce for her kittens. The kittens' colors varied. Some were orange, like their mother and others were different patterns of black and orange. None of their eyes were opened and from what Jack could see, their umbilical cords had yet to dry up and fall off.

"They're so cute!" Mary said. She had always wanted a cat and now there were six of them laying before her. She reached out to touch one of the kittens, but Jack grabbed her hand.

"Wait. We don't know how trusting the mother is," he said. He started to make gentle clicking noises with his tongue and reached out a hand to the mother cat. She sniffed his fingers gently and allowed him to pet her head. He scratched behind her ears and she purred. The kittens at her belly kneaded faster, obviously pleased that their mother was pleased.

"How about that?" Franklin said, "A litter of kittens! They're prolly scaring the hens half t' death. D'you think we can move them?"

"I don't know," Jack said, "We can try, but if the mama cat doesn't like it, she'll move them right back."

"Let's try," Mary said, "It's too cold in here for them anyway."

They spent the next few minutes picking the kittens up gently. The kittens, terrified, starting mewing squeakily, but their mother, sensing no danger, allowed herself to be picked up as well.

"She probably belonged to someone," Jack said as he cradled her, pet her head and set one of her kittens on top of her, "She's not skittish at all."

It was Franklin's genius idea to give the mother some of the milk from the buckets that he and Jack had abandoned underneath the cows. The mother lapped it up hungrily and then returned to her kittens.

"She's probably a lot happier now," Mary said. "Can I name her?"

"Why not?" Jack said, "I can't see the Red Coats not liking having cats here. They make good hunters for rats."

Mary squealed happily (Franklin looked at her as though she was out of her gourd) and went about thinking of names. As Jack and Franklin checked for the genders of the kittens, Mary would name them. Soon they had Flossie, the mother, her two girls, Flora and Poppy, and her boys, Clancy, Clayton and Clifford. Mary spent the rest of the day watching them out of wonder. Franklin watched them too, but only to check and see if Flossie was able to produce enough milk for her kittens. When he was satisfied, he left Mary to her gawking and went to work shearing the sheep, shaking his head and laughing at this strange boy.

~~GF~~

_Things are pretty light-hearted now (I say as I write a story about slavery), but from what I've got planned, Jack and Mary's situation will turn be turning South very shortly. Stay tuned to see what fate has in store for them next! _

_It's amazing how writing a ten-paged paper in college was a long, uphill battle and yet I just churned this 9 1/2 paged chapter out in a couple of hours. The world is a strange thing._

_And reviews, while not necessary, are ALWAYS appreciated! :)_


	3. Determination

_Rise of the Guardians does not belong to me. Not sure when the next chapter will be out, but we'll see how it goes. Poop starts hitting the fan in this chapter, so… er… enjoy!_

~~GF~~

The coming weeks brought a brutal onslaught of winter. As soon as the month slid from November to December, the snow started and refused to end. The cold weather was especially difficult for the children, very few of whom had jackets or any sort of heavy clothing with them. They complained to the soldiers every day, as often as they could without getting hit for being obnoxious, but the soldiers didn't relinquish extra blankets until after one of the boys died of hypothermia during the night.

Franklin revealed to Jack and Mary that he didn't know how to read or write. Having been born a slave, his parents couldn't teach him and no one else bothered to either. Mary decided to take it upon herself to teach him. She started with 'Franklin' and moved on to 'Jack' and 'Matthew'. After he had learned to write their three names by memory, she showed him the rest of the alphabet and letter combinations for words that he was curious about. The first two words he asked to learn were 'Mama' and 'Pa'. He was a bright student and a quick and eager learner, so Mary's work with him was quite easy.

Wanting to pay back the favor somehow, Franklin decided to thank Mary by stealing a roll for Jack every time Cook decided that Jack didn't need breakfast. Mary was terrified that he would be caught, but he was nimble and a good hider.

Jack and Franklin made a good team when working with the animals. Most of the farm animals that had been wary of humans when they first arrived were now entirely sociable and always happy to be petted. As a result, the quality of the products that the children could harvest from the animals rose substantially.

Flossie's kittens were thriving and were looking more like actual kittens than tiny, furry potatoes every day. After a week, they opened their eyes. Mary was ecstatic when she saw the first bleary eyes open and look at her. At that time, she grabbed Jack and Franklin and dragged them over to introduce them to the kittens once again. After another week passed, they began crawling around on their bellies, strengthening their legs.

"It won't be long until they can walk properly," Franklin informed Mary, who was delighted to hear the news.

Jack, Mary and Franklin usually kept to themselves as much as possible, preferring to stay in their haven-like barn. A few days before, a boy had been caught stealing food and was flogged for it. The officer who had done the dirty deed then threatened all the slaves within earshot that the next person to be caught would have it worse. Since then, tensions had been running high between the boys and the officers, so the three barn children preferred to keep out of it and stay among the company of the animals.

It was a good plan and worked until one day when the officer with the walking cane, who had first given them their jobs at the barn, walked in through the large door one morning.

"We are in need of a scribe," he told the three children who were all staring at him, completely shocked to see whom they had learned was one of the highest-ranking officers in the camp strolling into their barn. It was impossible to learn the names of all the men in the camp, but they had learned his: Lieutenant General Quagmire. The Lieutenant General elaborated, "Our most recent scribe went with God this morning and we require someone with excellent penmanship to take his place."

"Why ask a slave?" Jack asked. He considered this a valid question.

"Our soldiers are men of arms, not men of ink," he answered simply. "This is a rather lofty position for a slave, mind you. It is a comfortable standing and one that can be shared by that slave's family members."

"I can write," Jack raised his hand.

"I thought you might," the Lieutenant General replied craftily. From his pocket, he produced a piece of folded parchment, a quill and an ink well, "Kindly demonstrate your penmanship for me."

Jack took the supplies and wrote a few short sentences in his best cursive handwriting.

"Well well, I am impressed," Lieutenant General Quagmire said after Jack finished a final sentence. "Remind me of your name."

"Jack Overland, sir. And my brother and friend, Matthew and Franklin."

"Very well, come with me. Messrs. Matthew and Franklin will stay here and continue with their chores."

With a meaningful look at Mary, Jack turned and followed the Lieutenant General out of the barn. As he walked through the camp, the soldiers stared at him; he supposed it was rare for the Lieutenant General to bother with the slave boys. Quagmire led Jack to the one structure he had yet to enter; the building he had assumed belonged to the higher-ranking officers. Apparently, he had been right in his educated guess.

The walls of this building were better put together than the ones in the barn, but Jack, who had been expecting nice beds or cots only saw a table with a large map in the middle and surrounded by chairs, which were currently filled by the higher officers. The walls were decorated with more maps and a portrait of their king, as well as a cross bearing Jesus Christ upon it.

"This is our slave, Jack," Quagmire said to the group sitting at the table, "He is to be our new scribe. He has sworn not to repeat anything he hears on pain of death."

Jack thought back to the last thirty seconds and was quite sure that he didn't make any such promise. However, he had no intention of doing otherwise; if he did a good job, it could mean an even easier existence for himself, Mary and Franklin. His stomach growled as he thought that maybe it could mean getting regular meals from Cook for a change; today, Cook had been in a foul mood, forcing Jack to skip breakfast for the second day in a row.

"Well, then, here are your writing materials," a lower officer spoke, "You will record all of discussions quickly and precisely. You are not to speak unless spoken to, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Jack said, taking the writing materials from the officer. He sat in a rickety chair in the corner and began scratching down the conversation between the generals, trying to remember as much of the information for himself as he could. He learned some very valuable tidbits, such as the location of the camp in conjunction with the location of enemy (friendly, to Jack) camps. He also learned that the towns that had been relieved of their children previous had not been bothered since, which told Jack that his mother was safe at least. The rest of the conversation was completely lost on Jack, who didn't understand the meaning behind their battle plans and only wrote down what he heard at this point.

After several hours passed, Jack's hand was cramped, causing him much discomfort, but the last time he had paused to wring it out, he had been hit upside the head by a passing officer. Daylight began disappearing. He heard the slave's dinner triangle sound, but couldn't get his only meal for the day. He hadn't even had a chance to cook his single measly egg this morning. The officers showed no signs of stopping their meeting and Jack was expected to sit through all of it, no matter how tired or uncomfortable he was. When they started lighting their oil lamps, Jack wondered if the previous scribe had died of boredom.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a scuffle outside, and angry voices rose over the otherwise cheery noises that came from the soldiers.

"What in the world?" Quagmire said, grabbing his walking stick and un-fusing himself from his chair. The angry voices got louder and the curious officers decided to check what the problem was. Recognizing this as his chance to stretch his legs and back, Jack stood up and followed behind the last officer.

The scene outside, however, made his blood run cold.

It was Cook that was shouting angrily, his voice carrying across the clearing and reverberating off of the trees. The subject of his rant was little Franklin, who lay, curled and cowering, on the frozen, snow-laden ground at Cook's feet. As soon as Jack recognized Franklin, Cook pulled his foot back and sank it into Franklin's stomach. The young boy cried out as Cook shouted horrible slurs at him. All Franklin could do was curl himself tighter and hope that Cook would soon shout himself out.

"What is the problem, Francis?" the highest officer, whom Jack had learned was General Walsh, asked Cook lazily.

Cook looked up at who was addressing him and suddenly looked apologetic, "I'm sorry to have interrupted you, sir," he said, his voice now dripping with an uncharacteristic flattery, "but this stupid slave is a thief. I caught him stealing food from the kitchens just now. Look, see, he still has it in his hand!"

Jack looked at Franklin's hand and was instantly consumed with guilt. The roll of bread Franklin continued to clutch to him had surely been meant for Jack, just as it had always been in the past when Jack missed meals. And now his friend was caught; caught because of him.

"Well, punish him and get along with your night," General Walsh said, waving an unconcerned hand at Franklin. Jack suddenly hated the man he had been sitting across from all day. Did this man have no compassion for starving children?

Cook nodded, smiling and pulling a long kitchen knife from his pocket and sneered, "Perhaps losing a hand will teach him and the rest of them to not go near my food again." In one motion, he leaned down to Franklin and grabbed the wrist of the hand that still held the bread. Franklin cried out in a pointless protest, tears running down his face. Cook raised his knife—

"NO!" Jack yelled. Every person who had been watching the scene now looked directly at Jack. The officers turned to stare at him, eyebrows raised. Now that he had everyone's attention, Jack wasn't quite sure what he had been planning on doing. All he knew was that he couldn't let Franklin lose a hand just so Jack could fill his stomach.

"I—I told him to take the bread," Jack lied, his voice carrying across the now dead-silent clearing. The General turned to Jack, his heavy shoes pounding on the wooden deck below him.

"Why?" he asked menacingly.

"Because… because sometimes Cook doesn't let me have breakfast. I made him steal bread for me because I was hungry."

General Walsh stared at Jack for a moment before turning back to Cook.

"What will you do, Francis?" he asked Cook.

"That brat's been a thorn in my side since he got here!" Francis said, unfortunately recognizing Jack. "Lazy, he is. Never gets his chores done on time. I hold his breakfast to teach him a lesson, but he never seems to learn."

Jack wanted so badly to argue back, but he knew that the words of a slave would not hold up against the man he had learned to hate with all his being.

"You have not been completing your chores?" the General asked Jack. He was quite calm when he spoke, but he had a terrifying presence about him that chilled Jack to the bone. The other officers had so far been more-or-less civil to Jack, but this man was on a level all to his own.

"I have been," Jack argued. Cook had released Franklin's hand and Franklin had crawled a few paces away, staring at Jack, wide-eyed. Now that his friend was out of immediate danger, it was himself that Jack had to think about. "But _he_—" Jack pointed angrily at Cook, "—is insufferable. I do my chores every day, on time. I have been since I got to this stupid camp. He's lying."

"He's the one who's lying," Cook shouted back. "Always glaring at me! Once he even threw a rotten egg at my noggin."

_Liar_, Jack thought. If a rotten egg had been thrown at Cook, it hadn't been him who had done it. And whoever _had_ thrown the egg had Jack's praise for antagonizing this poor excuse for a human being that stood before him.

"In that case," the General said and Jack held his breath, waiting for his sentence, "I think it a good idea to teach this young man his place within in this camp. Five lashes for insubordination. Brigadier, if you will carry the deed out…"

A rather large and unpleasantly bullish-looking man separated himself from the group of high-ranking officers and walked towards Jack, who backed away instinctively. The Brigadier grabbed Jack around the bicep and pulled him from the deck of officers and then dragged him to the center of camp. A post was driven into the ground here, to serve as a reminder for those who did not wish to comply with the rules of the company.

Jack gave one half-hearted attempt to escape, but was hit across the head, causing him to see stars. As he shook his head clear, he looked over at the barn to see Mary standing at the edge of the crowd, her eyes wide with fear and tears running down her face. Jack wanted to yell at her to go inside and not watch, but he didn't want the General to realize that Jack's true vulnerability lay with his sister.

Jack was forced to his knees as his shirt was ripped from his back. His hands were tied around the post so he was hugging it, his cheek pressed up against the rough wood. The post was wide enough so that Jack couldn't readjust himself.

The first lash came without warning and Jack yelled out in shock and pain, but bit his lip soon after, cutting his shout short.

_Think of Mary_, he told himself, _You don't want to worry her, do you? Don't shout… don't shout._

The second lash hit from a different angle and Jack felt his flesh grow raw. He wasn't sure if it was cutting into his skin or not, but it sure felt like it.

As the third last arrived with a painful crack, Jack became increasingly aware of how the cold air stung at his back even more. His feet, with were dug in the snow were freezing and stinging.

The fourth and fifth lash came in quick succession and it was over, leaving Jack panting, but proud of himself for not yelling. His lip was bleeding from biting so hard, but he didn't yell. He felt a rough hand grab one of his wrists to untie him, but he the General spoke from across the way, "Leave him. It's late and some of the other slaves may not have seen what will happen if this becomes a regular occurrence. He'll stay here for the night. Release him in the morning, if the cold lets him live that long."

~~GF~~

It was very late at night and all the men, save for the watchmen, were in their tents, asleep for the night. Snow had begun to fall, fluttering peacefully down on the open clearing. The moon was high in the sky, beaming down through the clouds and providing a little light.

Jack remained tied to the post, shivering, freezing and wishing that the chill would spare him the misery and kill him quickly. He had always felt attuned to the winter weather, and often dared to run barefoot in the snow, but now it worked against him. The snow that had once looked peaceful and welcoming froze on his stinging back, adding insult to injury.

"God," Jack mumbled through shuddering teeth, his breath escaping in white clouds that reflected the light of the moon gently, "Please, if you're going to kill me, just do it now. This is torture."

For a brief moment, he felt as though a blanket were covering him. He craned his neck to look upward at the sky and noticed that the snow that had been falling on him before was now melting into nothing before it touched him. There was no blanket covering him, but he felt strangely warmer. His back still stung worse than ever, but his breath stopped appearing in clouds. Was he dying?

There was a brief, spring-like wind that fluttered across Jack's face and he heard a quick _thump-thump_. By the time he was able to turn his head to where he had heard the sound, there was nothing there but a tiny flower, poking out of the snow.

Confused, Jack finally succumbed to a painful sleep, with a slight glimmer of hope beating in his heart.

~~GF~~

Jack remained tied to the post through the soldier's breakfast and then through the slave's breakfast. Once the other boys had a chance to walk by and notice Jack as their warning on misbehaving, the Brigadier finally arrived to cut Jack off of the post.

When he pulled Jack up from the ground and handed him his ripped shirt, he informed him, "Your workload had doubled as punishment. You will now be in charge of the barn animals, but after breakfast and dinner, you will also be on dish duty under the cook's surveillance. When he feels you've been punished enough, your chores will go back to how they were. As breakfast has ended for today, you will make your way to the dining tent now and begin your work."

Jack only nodded, already seething with anger and resentment. There was no way this punishment was going to end soon. What a horrible start to his morning.

When he walked into the tent, Cook looked at him and smiled spitefully. Without another word, he pointed Jack to the wash basin that was filled with dirtied pots, bowls and dishes piled high. He set to work, scrubbing away, his hands that had been blistered by the cold stinging in the water. His back ached from both the lashes and having been arched over a wooden post overnight, but he kept it straight and only paused every once in a while to roll his neck. Once or twice, Cook appeared behind him to spit on the pile of clean dishes that Jack had piled up, forcing Jack to clean them again. He appeared a third time to roughly elbow Jack in the back as he pretended to reach for a strainer that had been placed on a shelf above Jack's head. Jack, having had enough, pretended to sneeze and rammed his elbow as hard as he could into Cook's gut. He apologized sweetly and Cook stalked away, wheezing. He didn't come back for the rest of the time that Jack stood in front of the basin.

Finally, he was free to go back to the barn.

The second he entered through the large door, Mary rammed into him, hugging him tightly and crying.

"Ow," Jack complained lightly as her arms brushed against his wounds, but he hugged her back, glad to know that she was alright. He looked around for Franklin and saw the boy sitting in the corner, guilt muddling his features. When he saw that he had Jack's attention, Franklin slid into a standing position and walked to Jack with the air of a child who was waiting to be admonished.

"I'm… sorry," he said quietly.

Jack let Mary go to take Franklin's shoulders in his hands, "It's alright. I'm just glad that you weren't hurt."

"But you were… and it was my fault," Franklin argued back.

"We could play this game all day and never truly find out who was at fault," Jack said, "But it's better that it was my back than your hand. Speaking of which, am I bleeding?"

Jack hadn't had a chance to ask about the state his back was in. All he knew was that it hurt profusely, un-helped by Cook's elbowing.

"Yes," Mary said. "You only started bleeding at the very end, though, so it's not as bad as it could have been. I have some bandages. Let me wrap you up."

Jack thought she was being very calm and brave for someone who had witnessed her brother being tied to a post and whipped. Nevertheless, he followed her to the stool that he usually sat on when he was milking the cows and turned his back to her, pulling up his ripped shirt.

Without proper tools, all Mary could do was dab at the two lash wounds that Jack had apparently acquired to staunch any blood that may not have been dry yet and then wrap his chest and back with a long, white gauze. Where she found these items, Jack didn't know. He didn't want to know, either.

Franklin waited around, watching Mary work, guilt keeping him from approaching Jack. When Mary was finally finished with her work, Franklin got up the courage to walk up to Jack and hand him two bread rolls.

"Are you serious?" Jack asked, almost laughing at the irony.

"One of them is from last night. Cook never took it back from me. And I took one this morning when he was too busy pickin' on you to notice me."

Jack wanted to be angry, but his stomach, empty for nearly two days, stopped his anger and replaced it with a desire to snatch the bread from Franklin's hands. Instead, he held his hands out and Franklin deposited both rolls into them. Jack nodded his thanks and bit into one. It was fairly stale, so Jack figured he had picked the one from last night. As he ate, he thought of how he may as well be doing exactly what he got into trouble for.

For the next few days, Mary and Franklin took the jobs around the barn that required excessive leaning and bending to spare Jack from opening his wounds. He was happy to only have to gather eggs and play with Mary's kittens, who were growing at an alarming rate.

As soon as he was on the mend, however, Jack's thoughts turned to more serious contemplations. After the incident with the bread, he knew that he couldn't stay in that camp anymore. It was a living hell and not one he was ready to grow accustomed to without a fight. The words of the officer who had showed him to the barn on his first night here reverberated in his head; he knew that if he tried to escape without a plan, they would set hunting dogs on him and either have him killed, or punished again. If he was going to escape with Mary and Franklin in tow, it had to be done right, on the first try. Only a flawless plan would get the three of them away safely and this is what consumed Jack's conscious hours for the next fortnight.

~~GF~~

_Oh my God, someone stop me. I can't believe how much I've written in the past two days._

_Did anyone get the reference of Jack's visitor when he was tied to his post? ;) I hope so!_

_Reviews are absolutely adored!_


	4. Fire and Oil

_You're right! The Easter Kangaroo was Jack's mystery visitor! I figured that Jack would be too old to see him, but that wouldn't stop Bunny from wanting to help a child in need. Rise of the Guardians doesn't belong to me._

~~GF~~

Christmas was nearing; Jack could tell as the spirits of the soldiers raised higher, but there was no happiness to be found for the slave boys of the camp.

Cook, Jack could tell, was thoroughly enjoying having him acting as his scullery boy. Not only did it mean that he, himself, was spared from cleaning the massive amounts of pots and pans in the wash basin, but in those few hours that Jack was forced to spend with him, he found ways to carry out his revenge against the young boy as much as possible. After Jack's back healed, that was no longer an optional target for his malice, so he had to become more creative. The worst of these cases was when he tripped Jack, who was carrying a large stack of particularly fragile bowls. When Jack fell over, breaking every single bowl, Cook took it upon himself to teach his scullery boy to be more careful by grabbing a switch and hitting him with it. Jack used his hands to block the attack, but that left his hands bruised and stinging.

Franklin continued to steal bread for Jack, who was now avoiding the dining tent as often as he could help it. Jack wasn't particularly happy that Franklin was risking so much, but his warnings to his young friend were always muffled by the bread in his mouth.

Mary's kittens were now able to stumble around the barn floor and play with each other. Clayton, Mary's favorite, even started trying to climb the ladder, but usually tumbled off of the bottom rung. He would lay on his back, mewling for Flossie to come and pick him up and bring him back to his brothers and sisters. Mary and Jack received a shock when they woke up one morning with a dead rat next to their heads that Flossie had caught for them. Jack praised her, because he figured a dead rat was better than a live one, but Mary was scarred.

After the bread catastrophe, Jack, Mary and Franklin settled back into their routines and found that they even had some time to play, just as long as they were quiet and pretended to look miserable when they exited the barn for any reason. Mary taught Franklin her favorite game; hopscotch. She was particularly good at it and always beat the boys when they played.

"Matthew is kinda a weird one, ain't he?" Franklin asked Jack one day while Mary went off to the chicken coop.

"What makes you say that?" Jack asked, trying not to sound like he was hiding something.

"I dunno. Just the things he does is kinda odd. Hopscotch, playing with the kittens… I even saw him braiding the horses' tails and manes once. He's just kinda… girly."

"He was ill when he was younger," Jack said, having thought of a good justification for Mary's shining feminism while Franklin was talking, "He spent most of his time indoors and our mother taught him household skills to keep him occupied."

"Oh," Franklin said, accepting the excuse without question.

After dinner that night, Jack steeled himself for his least favorite part of the day; scullery duty with Cook. Day in and day out, Jack and the other boys had gotten used to accepting their lumpy gruel without complaint. Sometimes, if the soldiers didn't finish what Cook had prepared for them, it was up for grabs for the slaves. They were all eager to get there first to get their hands on any delicacies that may be there.

Jack, who had mostly kept his distance from the other boys of Burgess, was now talking to them during dinner and learning about where they had been placed in camp. One unfortunate boy was in charge of cleaning the outhouse that was used by over six-hundred men and slaves. Several of the boys had been assigned to the stables while others maintained campfires and pitched tents. Their hands were now rough from the hard work, but none of them had lost their vitality and their hope that they could somehow live through this and go home.

One of the boys, Aaron, who was the eldest after Jack at the age of thirteen, leaned over his gruel one day to speak to Jack, "I didn't know you had a brother, Jack."

Jack laughed nervously, "Thanks for keeping it a secret."

Aaron nodded, "Of course I would. You know what would happen if they caught her? I'm not doing that to any of my brothers… or sisters… here. We're in this together."

Jack nodded and Aaron changed the subject, "Do you remember little Mikey?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Yeoman's son?"

"The very same. I heard from the soldiers here that a lot of them went off to a battle yesterday and they assigned Mikey to drum duty on the front lines."

Jack looked at Aaron, shocked and Aaron nodded in response. "He didn't come back."

Jack felt a hole rip into his heart at this news. He knew Mikey from the schoolhouse, where all the grades shared their one teacher. Mikey always sat in the front row and while he had been shy, he was smart as a whip; at only five years of age, he was at a level in mathematics that trumped many of the fourth grade students' work. To think of that innocent boy being put in the heat of battle with only a drum for protection was beyond cruel. What was worse, it had more than likely been friendly fire that killed him.

"I'm only telling you this because I want you to know to be careful. After that stunt you pulled a couple of weeks ago, they're bound to want to pick the biggest troublemaker for drum duty. Keep your head down."

Jack felt a lingering sense of guilt; they had been in the camp for four or five weeks now and all he had been thinking of was how to get himself, Mary and Franklin from the camp. He hadn't even given a second thought to the others who had been captured with them. He decided that, though there would be more children he had to look after, they would all escape together, or not at all.

Nevertheless, he nodded a thanks to Aaron's warning and stood up with his bowl and deposited it in the dirty-dish basin that he would be standing in front of for the next few hours.

~~GF~~

An hour in to washing the dishes, Jack had been letting his mind wander. After speaking with Aaron and the other boys, he had a newfound desire to find a means of escape, and fast. But first, they needed a way to protect themselves. He thought of what he had to work with. Himself, Franklin and Aaron could probably get by, but the majority of the boys were from the ages of five to eight. How could this possibly work?

Jack cast his eyes around the dining tent and noticed for the first time that Cook had a large amount of knives. This could even the playing field a little bit, he thought. Knives were nothing against muskets, but at least they would give everyone some form of protection; a fighting chance. There were enough knives in Cook's collection that he wouldn't miss a few if they happened to go missing. With this thought, Jack wrapped the large knife he was holding in a dish cloth and slid it into the waistband of his pants.

Someone suddenly grabbed at his shoulder and Jack's heart jumped into his throat. He turned around to see Cook leering at him; a face he always reserved just for his scullery boy. Jack's pulse quickened—had Cook seen?

"Why you so quiet, whelp?" Cook asked him loudly.

"I was just thinking." Jack responded, hoping to diffuse the situation without getting hit again… or caught stealing a knife.

Cook laughed at him, spraying Jack with saliva, "All a slave like you's gotta think about is which dish you'll be cleaning next."

"Funny enough, that's exactly what I was thinking about," Jack said with a light, undetectable sense of sarcasm. Cook's smile faltered slightly, thrown off by Jack's cooperation. It was no secret that the two of them were like water and oil. Or fire and oil. The fact that Jack was speaking politely to the man he loathed made Cook suspicious.

"What're you hiding?" Cook asked finally.

"Nothing," Jack answered quickly and Cook laughed gruntily.

"If it's nothin', my mother's the Queen of England."

"I didn't realize you were royalty," Jack retorted, "Look, I don't like being here as much as you don't like me being here. Can I just get my chores done so I can go?"

Cook eyed Jack again, his small gray eyes narrowing as he stared at Jack mistrustfully. Then with a swift motion, he reached his hand quickly into Jack's pants pocket. Jack shouted out of surprise, but was thankful he hadn't tried to hide his knife in his pocket. The knife was wrapped safely against his other hip.

"What's this, now?" Cook said, withdrawing his hand from Jack's pocket and clutching something gold and glittering. Jack thought that by now, he should be used to feeling angry and uneasy around the cook, but he was sorely mistaken as looked into Cook's hand and saw his mother's heart-shaped locket dangling in his meaty grasp. He had completely forgotten that he had hidden it away. Had it really survived the trip in his pocket all this time, only to end up in the hands of Jack's greatest foe?

"A thief and a burgler, you are!" he shouted at Jack, who made a grab for the locket. Cook's arms were longer, though, and his hand, which was placed on Jack's chest, held the young boy at bay.

"That's the same thing," Jack told him as he reached for the locket, "And I'm not a thief; that's mine!"

"Not anymore," Cook laughed, pocketing his mother's most precious treasure.

"Give it back!" Jack shouted at him.

"No," Cook said, hitting Jack roughly upside the head and shoved him back at the basin. Jack hit it roughly, causing the dishes to clattering warningly, "Get back to your chores, brat. Any more complaints from you and I'll report you to the General." With that, he walked away, chuckling at his newfound present.

Jack returned to the basin, absolutely livid. He grabbed two more of Cook's knives, wrapped them as well and slid them next to the first knife.

_An eye for an eye_, he thought.

~~GF~~

Christmas passed with much celebration from the soldiers. This was the first Christmas away from home for most of the boys, so they tried to gather together as much as possible. Jack opened the barn as a possible meeting place for them. It was warm and rarely occupied by soldiers, so many of them gladly accepted the few hours that they weren't required to work and sat huddled together, talking of what they would be doing for Christmas.

Jack's knife collection had grown in the last week and he now had enough knives for the oldest boys of the group. He didn't tell Mary about his plan, but he let Franklin in on the knives' hiding places, just in case he wasn't able to finish his work. Franklin seemed excited that Jack was going so against the Red Coats and enthusiastically offered to help Jack steal other weapons from the soldiers. Jack declined, worried that Franklin would get caught. He was still stealing food and Jack felt that was enough.

Before the new year, Franklin contracted an illness and Jack and Mary had to work hard to get all the chores done in his stead. He was too unwell to move, so this meant Jack had to go without rolls while Franklin was down-and-out for the count.

After a few days, Cook started to notice the missing knives. He called the General in to complain to him, "I had more knives than this ruddy pile," Cook told the General angrily.

"I realize you are upset, Francis, but this is hardly the sort of thing you would normally concern a general with."

"I understand, sir, and I apologize for taking your time," Cook started ruefully. He turned to where Jack was washing dishes and pointed a sausage finger at him, "But I know he's got something to do with it."

Jack kept quiet, trying to look innocent as he dutifully scrubbed one of the bowls.

"What proof do you have?" General Walsh asked the disgruntled cook. Cook rubbed his stubbled chin and reached a hand in his pocket, pulling out Kassandra's locket, "He tried to take this from me, naught but a few days ago. If he's capable of stealing this, a few knives would be no trouble for him."

Jack kept his head down, brushing one particularly stubborn stain on the metal bowl he was washing. He heard General Walsh's large shoes pounding quietly toward him. Only when Walsh was right next to him did Jack look up at him, trying to act surprised at his sudden appearance. The general was carrying a switch with him.

"I thought we might have made it clear with your last punishment that you were not to take things that don't belong to you," the general spoke in a dangerously hushed tone.

"I didn't take anything," Jack said, returning his eyes to his bowl, "I only clean what's in the basin. Maybe he misplaced the knives or something."

"That's the stupidest excuse I've ever heard," Cook yelled at Jack.

Jack, finally having enough, threw the dirtied rag into the soapy water, splashing himself and the general. "Hey, idiot, did you even bother _looking_ for the knives before you assumed that I took them?"

Jack was hit at the back of his neck with the switch, though it wasn't as hard as Jack knew the general was capable of hitting. He turned to look at Walsh, who held the switch up in warning.

"You will never again address your masters in such tones," he warned angrily, his eyes flashing. He paused for a moment and his voice switched instantly from rage to casual as he directed his next thought at Cook, "Although he does pose a good question. Did you look for the knives?"

"Well, no," Cook admitted. He turned to his work station under Walsh's watch and started moving his materials around on the counter, searching under jars and barrels.

"Oh," he said, holding up two knives that he found underneath a container of spices. Jack smiled behind their backs; he had thought ahead a long time ago. For every three knives he stole, he would hide another knife for Cook to find. If Cook assumed that he was merely losing the knives himself, he would make the educated theory that any extra knives that were missing from his stock would turn up eventually. In reality, however, Jack would have them hiding away in the barn, waiting until his escape plan was flawlessly formulated.

"There you have it, then." General Walsh said with finality. Before he turned to leave, he spoke to Jack, "Of all the slaves in this encampment, you are the one whom I am watching the hardest. I suggest that you keep your mind on your work and nothing else. Otherwise, it will not only be you who pays the price for your disobedience. You have a younger brother with you, am I correct? It would be a shame if something were to happen to him."

With that, he swept out of the dining tent, leaving a speechless Jack and Cook in his wake.

~~GF~~

_This chapter is a bit shorter today—only about five pages. Sorry about that! The next chapter will be a bit longer, so this seemed like a good place to finish this chapter._

_For those who want something to do while they wait for my next chapter can check out my one-shot Return of the Guardian's story called "In the Blink of an Eye"! :)_

_Reviews, as always, are so very appreciated!_


	5. Hail Mary

_Fun fact: I lived in Holland when I was little, and I had two canaries named Jack and Mary. Whenever I write about Jack and Mary in this story, it always feels weird, 'cause it's like I'm talking about birds. Yup._

_Also, I read the script for RotG and it said that Jack's sister is supposed to be around four years old. Whoops! She didn't look or act like a four-year-old to me. Nevertheless, I apologize for the incontinuity, as my version of Jack's sister is much older. Hopefully, it doesn't bother you much!_

~~GF~~

"Jack," Mary said and Jack couldn't help but note the tone of guilt in her voice. He used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his forehead and looked to Mary who was absentmindedly petting the cow that he was milking. She had one hand hidden behind her back.

"Yeah?" he asked her suspiciously. He noticed that the still-sick Franklin, who was laying in the bed of straw behind Mary, looked at her back curiously. She waited a few beats and then held out a small roll of bread. Jack's jaw dropped; Mary had never stolen anything before, not even in this camp. If he was being honest with himself, he didn't think that her conscience would allow her.

Apparently, it could.

He took the bread quietly and nodded his head in thanks, too hungry to turn his nose up at his sister's prize. Jack could no longer expect meals from Cook who, by now, was adamant on finding something wrong with Jack's work on a daily basis and refusing to give him food as a penalty. The teenager was now sustaining himself on one stolen chicken egg a day, a fact that he no longer hid from Mary or Franklin. Stealing more would cause Cook to become suspicious, so he couldn't risk it. Mary eyed at his scrawny figure every time he spoke with her and he could see now that it bothered her more than she had let on.

"Matthew…" Jack began, but Mary cut him off.

"I know you're going to tell me not to steal anymore, but if I have to, I will," she told him, her jaw set defiantly. "I'm tired of being the weak one. I don't care if I get caught, just so long as you have something to eat."

Jack opened his mouth to tell her off, but then the weight of what she had just said crashed down on him and he was overcome with a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude. When had his little sister become so mature? He pressed the bread to his eyes to block his tears from her.

It wasn't only Jack who had been suffering from lack of food in this past week: the entire company, General Walsh and all were experiencing a deep-set hunger. As winter set in with full force, the only things providing them all with nourishment were Cook's stale rolls and the animals that Jack, Franklin and Mary kept. The pigs had all, by now, been slaughtered and smoked. One chicken that had stopped laying eggs had also not been spared the hatchet. And still there were six-hundred mouths to feed. Jack overheard some of the soldiers saying that General Walsh had sent letters pleading for rations from other camps that lived in places where food sources were more plentiful. Several desperate soldiers went on more settlement raids to steal farm animals and crops. What they returned with could hardly feed all of them.

As a result, the slaves couldn't expect anything other than a thin gruel that was more water than actual food. There were no longer any leftovers for them to pick off of as Cook used the remnants to boil into a soup concoction for the next meal. They were all limited to one meal a day.

Mary turned back to Franklin and produced another roll from her pocket. She gave it to him as she felt his sweaty forehead.

"You're still so warm," she said worriedly. Franklin took a small bite of his bread; he had only just regained his ability to keep food down and was still wary.

"I'll be alright, Matt," he said, trying his best to sound chipper through his sickness.

"I wish there was something more I could do," she told him.

"You're doin' plenty more than anyone's ever done for me. And that's the truth." Franklin replied. Mary smiled warmly at him and then stood up, brushing her pant legs off.

"I'll milk the goats for you, Jack," she told her brother and grabbed a pail before walking off to the stall where the goats were kept. Jack nodded back to her and gave Franklin a smile before biting into his own roll of bread. He finished it in record time, wiped his hands and then went back to milking the cow, which had been waiting patiently for him to continue.

Suddenly, there was a shout from the goat's stall and Jack stood up to see Mary walking towards him angrily.

"What is it?" he asked her.

"'What is it?'" Mary repeated crossly, "I'll tell you! What is _this_?"

She brandished one of Cook's knives at Jack.

"Oh, that's…" Jack began, but Mary cut him off, throwing the knife on the ground.

"Jackson Overland," she stormed at him, sounding like a younger version of their mother, who used Jack's full name whenever he was in trouble… which was quite often, "you've been the one stealing Cook's knives! You know how often he goes on about losing them? What if you're caught?"

"I've already thought of that," Jack said, "That's why I hide some of them for him to find. He has no idea it's me—"

"You know full well that he'll use any excuse to pin it on you, if he can!" Mary yelled back, tears in her eyes. She had said everything she needed to, so she stood and stared at Jack furiously, breathing loudly through her teeth. Jack knew that he couldn't take back what he'd done and he knew that if he tried to retort by bringing up her recent theft of the bread rolls, he may as well take the knife from her and do himself in for how much more she would yell at him.

"I'm sorry," Jack said finally, "But I'm… I'm not stealing them just for sport, you know. I'm doing it so we can get out of here… and go home to Mama. You just told me you'd steal for me? Well, I'm doing the same for you."

Mary was quiet, but the fire in her eyes lessened slightly as she thought about his words. Finally, she nodded silently. Jack leaned over and picked the knife up.

"I've got more of these; enough for the older boys to each have one. All we have to do is figure out how we're gonna escape."

"I've been thinkin' about that," Franklin said, pushing himself into a sitting position on top of the hay.

Mary turned to him and said exasperatedly, "Of course you'd be in on it, too."

Franklin gave her a sheepish, white-toothed smile before continuing, "All we'd need is something big to happen that they'd all look at."

"A diversion?" Jack offered.

"I don't know what that means," Franklin said, embarrassed. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, "But them Red Coats ain't too bright when it comes to keeping their things safe, are they?"

"What is _that_?" Jack asked, eyeing the paper curiously, laughter tickling his voice.

"It's a map." Franklin said, his eyes narrowing cunningly, "I stole it a couple of weeks ago, before I got sick."

"Why didn't you mention it before?" Jack asked, walking to Franklin and taking the map as it was offered to him. He opened it and scanned it.

"I wanted to wait for you to get all of the supplies we'd need."

"Wait a moment," Jack said as Mary peered over his elbow to sneak a peek at the map as well, "These triangles mean Red Coat camps… this one's the one we're at…" Jack gestured to the map so Mary, whose geography skills had always left something to be desired, could understand "But what're these square symbols?"

There were several of the strange square symbols on the map, some of them only a few miles away from the triangles, by Jack's reckoning.

"Those're the Yankee camps," Franklin said and Jack's heart lifted in excitement. All this time and they'd been only a few days' walk away from the nearest friendly camp!

Jack's mind began to race with the new possibilities presented to him. Without much of a base for his thoughts, the wildest of schemes began formulating in his head. But no, he had to think more simplistic. Whatever plan he needed had to be something that could be understood and carried out by all the slave boys, no matter how young.

"Matthew," Jack said and Mary looked up at him, her bright eyes shining with the same hope that he felt in his chest, "Of the three of us, you're the least likely to be noticed by the soldiers, so I need you to spread the word to the other boys that we need to speak to them. Tonight. Midnight."

~~GF~~

The soldiers all went to bed without their usual high-spirited singing that night. After a week of little food, the novelty of being part of the company had lost what little appeal there was. The moon shone high above the treetops, causing the small snowflakes that continued to fall to light up in the night sky. The snow on the ground muffled the sounds of nature. Dozens of sets of footprints that lead to the barn were quickly filled in by the falling snow.

It was the first time that Jack had seen all the boys gathered together outside of mealtimes. They were all looking slightly worse for wear, having been forced to pull more chores that the soldiers, tired and hungry, simply refused to do. But as they all sat around, talking, Jack noticed that the spirit in the air was high and they were all excited to hear what he had to say.

"Alright, everyone," Jack said and the boys stopped their conversations to listen in, "You've all probably been wondering how long we'll have to be here. If I have anything to say about it, it won't be much longer. But I'll need your help."

There was a slight amount of muttering at his words and he let them talk themselves out before starting again. He turned to Mary, who was standing near the goat's stall and nodded to her. She nodded back and went inside to retrieve the box of knives that they had recovered from their many hiding places within the barn. She returned quickly and dumped the knives out of their wooden box, and they chinked and scraped together as they fell in a heap on the ground. The boys stared at the knives, completely stunned.

"I've been taking these from Cook for a while," Jack said to general approval, "I need you to keep this a secret, please. You've all probably noticed that we're not on the best of terms, me and him."

Collective laughter sounded from the circle of boys and they nodded, sharing gleefully in their inside joke.

"These aren't anything against muskets, but they're better than nothing," Jack continued, "But if we were to take these right now and try to leave, we'd be shot down by the watchmen before any of us could step outside the perimeter. That's why we need a diversion; a big distraction."

It was dead silent now, the boys all listening in keenly. Jack noticed Aaron standing in enthusiasm for whatever Jack had to say next.

"Franklin, stole this map from General Walsh," Jack held up the map for the boys to view, "This is where we are… and this square here is the nearest Yankee camp. As you can see, it's not too far away. My guess is that the Red Coats are trying to keep the Yankees from finding out that this camp is here; otherwise there'd have already been a battle for land. But a battle's exactly the distraction we'd need. If other men with muskets are attacking, there's no way they'd pay attention to a bunch of kids trying to make a run for it."

"So if that Yankee camp doesn't know the Red Coats are here, how are we supposed to get them here to cause a distraction?" Aaron asked.

"This is the dangerous part," Jack said, "One of us needs to go to the camp and alert the troops there of our location."

"That _is_ really dangerous," Aaron said, "Watchmen are everywhere. If they see even the slightest move, they'll kill anyone who tries to leave."

"We've already thought of that," said Jack. Franklin, ill but enthralled, leaned closer, grinning from ear-to-ear; this next part had been his idea and it was obvious that he couldn't wait to hear the reaction of the other children. Jack continued, "We're gonna burn down the barn."

The effect was instantaneous, and Franklin was not to be disappointed at the amount of laughs, quiet claps and general mutterings of excitement that the other boys gave. After the chattering had subsided, Jack explained their plan further.

"While the soldiers are trying to put the fire out, one of us can sneak away and alert the Yankee camp. It'll probably take a few days to get there and about a day for the troops to get back here, so we can use that time to prepare ourselves for our escape."

Aaron stood up and walked over to Jack seriously, "I'll alert the camp. I'm fast and I've kept my head down. They probably don't even know I'm here, so they wouldn't miss me if I was gone."

"Great minds think alike," Jack smiled, patting Aaron on the shoulder, "I was going to ask you if you could do it. Would you be willing to leave tonight?"

"I'm ready to leave right now, if that's what you're thinking," Aaron said, giving Jack an impish grin.

Jack was glad that the boys seemed pleased with the plan. He sent them all back outside in small groups with the warning to act like the fire was a shock to them. Once he, Mary, Franklin and Aaron were the last ones in the barn, they began to unlock all of the animals' stalls. Jack understood Mary's expression when she gazed at the animals; he wished that they could just release them all now so there would be no chance that any of them could possibly be harmed. But it was too risky—if one of them got spotted by the watchmen, they would know that the fire was not accidental. The most they could do was give the animals a chance by letting them out of their stalls.

When all of the animals were freely roaming around the barn, Jack instructed Aaron to go across camp and hide in the outhouse until the camps' attention was on the barn. Then, he was to slip away and go as fast as he could to the Yankee camp. The last thing Jack did was sneak out behind the barn and bury the knives next to a particularly wide tree that could be easily recognized. When he finally returned to the barn, he saw that Mary and Franklin were both holding lanterns in their hands. Jack took up two lanterns as well.

They stood silently for a moment, staring at one another with indiscernible looks on their faces before Jack said, "Ready?"

"Yes," Mary and Franklin said in unison.

"Then let's go," Jack said and the three of them rushed off to the hay stacks that lay around the barn. There were several sounds of lanterns smashing to the ground and then a _whoosh_ as the straw caught fire. When the fire climbed higher, it easily caught to the walls of the barn. The animals began to panic, and the three children rushed to the un-touched wall of the barn for fear of being trampled. This was the most dangerous part for them. They had to stay inside until the last possible moment so that soldiers could attest to their story that they were 'asleep' and 'barely made it out'.

The snow that was falling outside made the wood of the ceiling damp, so it took a while longer for the roof to catch fire, but when it finally did, Jack heard shouts from outside as the watchman were noticing the barn. It was a testament to how inadequate the architecture of the barn was when one of the ceiling beams came down with a resounding _BOOM_ only minutes after the fire was initially started. Mary screamed, surprised, but Jack took her by the shoulder and pulled her closer to him for protection. She wrapped her arms around his middle and hid her face in his shirt. The smoke was now becoming so thick that the three of them were forced to duck down to where the air was clearer.

The animals were now in a frenzy; kicking, pawing and practically screaming for freedom. Finally, Jack couldn't take the smoke anymore and signaled for them to run to the large barn door. As they crawled towards it, they heard soldiers trying to open it from the outside, but Jack had locked it to prevent them from entering prematurely. He threw up the wooden bar that bolted the door shut and pushed it open, coughing loudly. Himself, Mary and Franklin stumbled outside, coughing and heaving. Several pairs of hands grabbed Jack and pulled him away from the barn, just before the animals, who had spotted their opening, crushed him during their escape. One of those pairs of hands belonged to General Walsh, who bore down on the young boy.

"What happened?" he demanded madly, shaking Jack by the scruff of his neck.

"I—I don't know," Jack coughed. "The animals woke us up, b-but by then the whole place was on fire!"

General Walsh relinquished Jack and stood up to shout orders at the soldiers, who were pumping water and throwing it at the flames as quickly as they could.

"Do _not_ let the trees catch fire!" he commanded, "If they do, we may as well say our Hail Marys right now!"

He turned to Jack, who had now pushed himself into a standing position, "You! Help the men put out the fire!"

Jack nodded. He glanced around for Mary and Franklin and saw them standing nearby, staring at the fire. General Walsh saw them as well and pushed them both roughly towards Jack, "Don't just stand there, you fools!"

The three of them joined ranks with the soldiers, who had formed a human chain and helped to move buckets from the water pump to the burning barn. The walls had by now, completely burned away and all that was left was the foundation, which creaked and crackled, threatening to fall any second. The barn was lost, that much was obvious; the new goal now was to keep the fire from spreading. In a flammable forest, this was essential. While Jack worked, he hoped that Aaron had had enough of a chance to get away undetected. With any luck, they would be hearing the pounding of Yankee hoofbeats in a few days. Perhaps they had even seen the smoke from the fire.

Only when the sun began peeking over the trees was the fire contained. The foundation had also fallen, so all that was left of the barn was a pile of blackened rubble. Everyone, both the soldiers and the slaves, was covered in ash and sweat. They were exhausted, having worked all night to put out the fire. Now that smoke was all that was left, they all retired to their tents to collapse in exhaustion.

General Walsh was also covered in soot and breathing hard. But once the majority of the men had retired, he straightened his hat and walked towards Jack, who was checking on Mary and poor Franklin, who could barely stand.

"You lot are to make your new homes in the horse stables. Several of the animals either perished or escaped, but a party of soldiers managed to recapture a fair few of them. They will stay in the stables until we can build new accommodations for them. Though you three are pests, there is no denying that the animals have flourished in your care. They will remain in your charge."

Jack, Mary and Franklin all nodded without a word and went off to the stables. Several soldiers were inside, calming the horses and moving the barn animals to empty stalls. The slave boys who were stationed in the stables found them and showed them where they were allowed to sleep. Jack only recognized one of them; Frederick, the son of the grocer in Burgess. The other five must have been captured from another settlement. Their new sleeping quarter was a small booth at the very end of a long row of stalls that was shared by the other boys. It was devoid of light and rather dingy and cold, but it was better than sleeping outside.

"I hope Aaron makes it to the Yanks safely," Frederick said quietly to Jack.

"Me too," Jack replied gravely.

~~GF~~

_Well… that was a surprise. Don't you just love when you completely lose control of your plot and you accidentally burn down an entire barn? _

_It won't harm the overall plan of the story, but it did make it a tiny bit longer. There will probably be about two or three more chapters!_


	6. Gratitude

_Hey guys! Sorry for the delay; I spent all of last week sick. It really sucked because I had to teach a Winter Camp for my students and I just didn't have the energy to think about too much in my free time. I also worked on some RotG fanart, which I posted at my DeviantART account. If you're interested in seeing that, you can find the URL to my DA account on my profile. :)_

_Onwards to the next chapter!_

~~GF~~

Jack was rudely awakened the next morning by a kick to the face. He sat up quickly, looking around blearily for his attacker when he realized it had only been one of the other boys kicking in his sleep. The stable that the nine boys were sharing wasn't big enough for them all to have their own space, so they were forced to sleep side-by-side. One of the boys had somehow flipped over in his sleep so his feet were resting next to where Jack's head had been seconds before.

It was still dark, but the sounds of early-rising soldiers could be heard outside as they prepared to get to work on the chores that they were still willing to do, despite the continued food shortage.

Jack slowly got to his feet and looked at the heap of sleeping boys around him. Franklin was curled in the corner with the only blanket that the original occupiers of the stable had given him. From what Jack could see in the dim light, his complexion looked better than last night. Perhaps his fever had broken while he dreamed. Mary had slept curled up next to Jack, but now she lay with her arms wrapped around her stomach to keep the chill at bay.

Jack figured that while he was awake, he might as well start on learning which animals that had survived last night's fire needed milking, grooming or healing. Not many soldiers were working in the stables just yet, so Jack was free to roam around, hunting down his own charges without confrontation. Both cows had survived, Jack was pleased to see. Margaret, the gentle horse had survived. From what he could see, Mindy, the snappish horse wasn't there, but he thought he remembered seeing her run into the forest. Perhaps the soldiers had been too afraid to get near enough to catch her. Only one goat had survived, and a handful of chickens.

After the cows and the single goat had been milked, and the sparse amount of eggs collected, Jack took what he had gathered to Cook. Normally, Cook, who was not a morning person by any means, was especially nasty to Jack during the early delivery, but he looked positively worn out this morning. He took the food quietly from Jack and re-entered the tent to get started on the sparse meal for the soldiers.

When Jack returned to the stable, the other boys were just starting to wake up, rubbing their eyes. When they remembered the events from the night before, they started talking excitedly. They hadn't had a chance to jabber the previous night; the work it took to put out the fire had exhausted all of them and they had fallen asleep the second they curled up on the straw-ridden ground. Jack had to remind them not to talk too loudly, at which point they dispersed to start their own chores. Normally, Jack, Mary and Franklin would spend the time after the morning chores were done playing around in the barn, teaching Franklin to read and write or telling stories, but with the amount of soldiers running around outside their stable door, there wasn't much they could do to pass the time.

After spending about twenty minutes sitting in silence, Jack decided that it would be good for them to wash off the soot and grime that had been accumulating. He left Franklin in Mary's charge as he went to pump water and heat it over the campfire. He snuck three washcloths into his pant pocket when no one was looking and rushed back to the stable. Jack and Franklin stripped off their shirts and began scrubbing at their chests and arms, but Mary paused, reserved. She had yet to develop any feminine curves, but it was still not done, undressing in front of Franklin, who was not in her immediate family.

Jack understood her silence and took to distracting Franklin by checking his temperature and then drawing words on the ground for him to read while he washed. Mary took the chance to groom herself. While she scrubbed, Jack chanced a glance at her back and his stomach sank. She had been wearing his old shirt this whole time, and the bagginess of the fabric had hidden how much weight his sister had lost. He could see her backbone and ribs from where he sat.

_Just wait_, he told himself, _in a few days, Aaron will be back and we'll all be out of here. _

He couldn't help but feel proud of his little sister. For everything that had been happening; for how hungry she surely was, she had yet to voice a complaint. She always tried to keep a cheery face. Jack hadn't understood how much he relied on her smile until he realized that she had been using it to mask her own misery.

Just as they all finished washing, the lunch bell rang for the slaves. Mary and Jack helped Franklin to his feet. There was a spring in his step today, no doubt aided by his newly-cleaned bodu; a good sign in Jack's book.

Jack found that Cook's brusqueness from earlier that morning had worn off over day and he was wearing his usual sneer to greet Jack as he approached. Jack could already tell that he wasn't going to expect lunch today, but stood in line anyway, in hopes that his gut feeling was wrong. As usual, it wasn't.

He drew near to the thick chef and Cook grabbed him by his shirt collar, pulling him close. Mary and Franklin, holding their bowls of gruel, turned back to look at Jack with worried looks in their eyes.

"Don't think I don't know what you're up to," Cook sneered, his foul breath invading Jack's nose, "The General may have let you go last night, but I know you started that fire on purpose."

"Really," Jack argued back, unhooking Cook's hands from around his lapels. "I wasn't aware of that."

"Git back to the stable, where you belong… if you know what's good for you," Cook pushed Jack away. Jack gave one nod to Mary and Franklin, telling them with his expression to go inside and eat their meals. He went back to the stable quietly, reminding himself that he'd be the one laughing in a few days when the Yankees invaded the starving camp.

He sat in the dark stable for quite some time, brooding. Suddenly, he heard a scuffle outside. Scuffles never yielded anything positive for Jack, so he waited a few moments before his curiosity got the better of him. When he exited the stable, he saw from across camp that Cook was yelling at one of the boys, holding him by the wrist and shaking him wildly. The officers had also apparently been interested in seeing what the shouting was about, and lined up on the porch of their small cabin to watch the scene unfold before them.

As Jack drew nearer, he received the worst shock of his life to realize that the boy Cook was yelling at was Mary. As Jack looked closer, he could see that she was holding a bread roll in her small hand.

"No," Jack said to himself and his pace quickened as he rushed to where a circle of soldiers was forming around the scene.

"God's name, I have had enough of all this stealin'!" Cook shouted, absolutely livid. He brandished one of his choice knives under Mary's nose and she gazed back at him, her eyes wide and glossy. She was shaking with fear and pulling against Cook's grip.

Cook raised his knife over his head, "You can kiss that hand of yours goodbye, boy!"

"NO!" Jack yelled, pushing soldiers aside as he struggled to get in the circle and protect his sister.

"Restrain him," General Walsh ordered from the deck and several soldiers pounced on Jack, grabbing his arms and holding him in place. He kicked wildly, but to no avail.

"One moment, Francis," Walsh said to Cook and he drew closer to the horrid man who was pinning Mary to the ground. Cook stayed still, no longer shooting insults at Mary.

As the General approached Mary, he looked at her curiously, "Well, I must say, I am surprised," he said, "You're not normally the one of you and your brother to get into trouble."

"Please," Mary pleaded from the ground, loosening her grip on the bread in her hand and it rolled onto the dirt, "Please, sir, I only wanted bread for my brother. He's so thin… please, sir…"

"If he was hungry, then he would eat his meals with the other slaves and not have others steal for him, like a savage," Walsh spoke coldly to Mary.

"But…" Mary cried, tears rolling from her eyes, "Cook doesn't give him any food."

"I hardly believe that Francis wouldn't give him food if he didn't deserve it," Walsh said.

Jack was seething with anger at this point. He had stopped fighting the soldiers who were holding him, but instead stayed stock-still, waiting to see how this was going to play out. He surveyed the area and noticed Franklin on the other side of the circle, obviously doing the same thing. Jack hoped that Franklin wouldn't get himself involved—the boy was only just getting over his illness.

General Walsh continued speaking to Mary, "However, I believe there have been enough warnings to all the slaves as to what would happen if they were to steal. You shall receive whatever punishment Cook decides to administer and learn from it."

Jack saw Cook raise his knife, taking the hint from General Walsh to proceed. Jack, panicked and unsure of what to do, broke free from the soldiers, whose grips had slackened considerably when Jack stopped fighting. Without so much as another word, he ran to Cook, who was kneeling on the ground, pinning his sister in place, reared his leg back and gave the chef a good, hard kick to the face.

Cook tumbled backwards, absolutely stunned, freeing Mary who lay on the ground, equally as astonished at the turn of events.

Behind Jack, he heard General Walsh give a loud growl of anger and turned to face down the grown man. But Jack, acting on pure adrenaline, ran up to meet Walsh, balled up his fist and sunk it as hard as he could into the man's gut. Walsh collapsed with one knee to the ground, winded.

Jack stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do next, but the soldiers recovered from the shock faster. One of them quickly ran up to Jack and rammed his elbow hard into the back of Jack's head. Jack saw stars and felt both knees hit the frozen dirt before he realized his legs had given way in shock. He was then tackled roughly to the earth by several soldiers as General Walsh recovered and pushed himself into a standing position, his features arranged in a maddeningly infuriated look.

He glared down at Jack and then to Mary, who was standing and staring at her brother with wide eyes.

"That is it," he hissed dangerously. He jabbed his finger in Jack's direction, and spoke slowly, every word quaking in absolute fury, "Fifty lashes for continued insubordination, attacking an officer and theft."

"No!" Mary shouted and she ran for Jack.

"Restrain him," Walsh shrieked and Mary was rushed at by two soldiers. Quick on her feet, she dodged them, but was finally caught. She fought back, kicking and screaming. "See that Cook's punishment is carried out for that one. Now."

One of the soldiers took hold of Mary's arm and another soldier approached with a bayonet, brandishing the spike at the end threateningly.

"No!" Jack shouted back, fighting against the soldiers holding him, "No! You can't!"

He fought with all his might against the soldiers, biting where he could reach, kicking where he could, and thrashing around as he saw the soldier raise the bayonet above his sister's wrist. Mary squeezed her eyes shut.

"No! No! Mary!" Jack screamed, his voice breaking and then ringing out in the silence that was brought on by the entire camp. Realizing his mistake too late, Jack could only wait in absolute horror as what he had said sunk in.

"Mary?" General Walsh was the first to comment. He stared from Mary, to Jack and then back to Mary. Silently, he approached Jack's little sister and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look up into his face. She refused to make eye contact with him, but the discomfort on her features was enough proof for Walsh.

"Well, Gentlemen," he said, his every word leaking poison, "It looks as though we are in the presence of a young lady." He regarded Mary silently, her chin still in between his fingers. Finally, he said quietly, "Let's not let this surprise go to waste. Take her to my cabin."

"Don't you touch her!" Jack shouted at Walsh, "If you touch her, I swear to God that I will kill you! I swear it!"

Walsh turned back to Jack and punched the side of his head. Jack had to shake his head to get his vision back. Walsh shook out his hand and then used it to grab Jack's hair and force the boy to look into his face, "You will still be receiving your punishment and make no mistake that any further unruliness will result in your annihilation. If you make any attempt at my life, it will be your sister who pays the price for your foolishness."

Suddenly, Walsh gave a shout and stood up, spinning on the spot comically. Jack looked up to see Mary clinging to Walsh's back, hitting his head with her small fist and shouting, "Don't you touch my brother!"

Walsh grabbed her and threw her to the ground where she rolled several times. He kicked her face and fresh blood ran from her nose and mouth and her eyes closed as she was knocked out.

"A shame I had to do that," Walsh said for the soldiers, who laughed disgustingly. "Take her to my cabin. And take _him_," Walsh said, pointing at Jack menacingly, "to the post. Leave him there when you're done flogging him."

Jack growled and fought back as hard as he could, kicking and yelling insults at Walsh. Although he was much weaker than the soldiers holding him, that made Jack more nimble and in his desperation, he was able to twist free from their clutches. He ran for Walsh, dodging the General's punches and circling around him, trying his best to get in hits where he could. He avoided the soldiers that made jumps at him, but what he didn't expect was for Cook, who had been watching the scene with interest, to intervene. The large man snuck up behind Jack, who was distracted by other soldiers, reared back his knife-wielding hand and sunk the blade into Jack's left side.

Jack, who had been moving at the time that Cook attacked, was able to let momentum carry him away from the worst of the strike and the knife only sunk a couple of inches into his flesh before it was pulled back out. It was enough for the tired and weakened boy. Jack, defeated, fell to the ground, grimacing and holding his side as blood blossomed from his lesion, staining his shirt.

"Thank you, Francis," Walsh said, straightening himself in a dignified manner.

"Can't tell you how long I've been wanting to do that, sir," Cook said, using his apron to wipe Jack's blood from the blade of his knife. There was a beat of silence, but Jack, whose eyes were closed in pain, didn't understand why.

"But where is the girl?" Walsh shouted angrily. Jack gave a start and opened his eyes, looking around blearily for his sister, who had last been unconscious on the soil. The soldiers looked around and shouted at one another. No one had seen where she had gone; they had all been watching Jack's fight. Jack cast his eyes around the group and noticed that Franklin was also missing from the circle. He almost cried with relief and gratitude for his young, brave friend.

"Search for her," Walsh ordered the men around him before retreating into his cabin. Jack's arms were pried from his sides and he was dragged towards the dreaded post in the center of camp. He steeled himself for what he knew was coming as his wrists were tied to the post and his shirt ripped from his back, allowing the cold, winter wind to bite at his knife wound. He didn't resist, though, both because his sister was not in immediate danger and he knew that he no longer possessed the strength to defy his enemies.

As the soldiers watched the Brigadier deal out the fifty lashes owed to Jack, he refused to make a noise; the free, prideful young man in him declined to allow him to do so. His mind grew hazy and he felt himself losing consciousness from blood loss. He hoped that Franklin was able to hide Mary away without getting caught. He hoped Aaron would come back soon.

He wished with all his might that he could live long enough to see his mother's face one last time.

The darkness clouded his brain and drew the last of his consciousness from him.

~~GF~~

_Well… how do you like them apples? I wasn't really feeling this chapter tonight, but I hope it was still enjoyable._


	7. Disobedience

_I keep forgetting to thank you guys for your wonderful reviews! I've loved every single one of them! I'm really happy to share this story with others who also enjoy it! This chapter was particularly interesting for me to write, so I hope you enjoy it as well! Onward! _

~~GF~~

When Jack came to, it was still light out, but the sun had changed position. He had passed out sometime around noon, but now the sun was in the early-morning position. For a moment, he sat there, confused, with his arms tied to the post. His back was stiff and felt as though it were on fire, even in the chill. He didn't remember the Brigadier doling out Walsh's fifty-lash order and he was glad of that. According to the pain he now felt, it had been brutal.

As Jack sat, trying to think of how much he remembered from the last time he had been conscious, it started slowly coming back to him. Mary… Cook stabbing him… everything. Only when his mind had cleared as much as it could did he realize that the sun was in the early-morning position because he had been tied to the post throughout the remainder of the day, into the night and up to the next morning. General Walsh was bound to be furious that he was still alive. He couldn't see Cook being too chuffed either. Jack was surprised himself.

But one thing had come of his extended time outside; he was immensely sick. He couldn't control the shaking of his extremities and his head felt hot and stuffy. His throat was raw and his nose was stinging.

Finally, Jack tried to gain better control of his limbs. He straightened up and began stretching as much as his bonds would allow him. The passing soldiers took notice of him.

"Well, look who's still alive," one of them said and Jack looked up at him through unfocused eyes. His ears were plugged, so the man's words sounded muffled and distant, "Bet the General'll be surprised to hear about this."

The man nudged his friend, "Better go tell him."

Jack coughed and tried to swallow to whet his throat. No saliva was left in his mouth, so all that came of his attempts was another hacking cough. After his coughing attack, he opened his eyes and saw two shiny boots in front of him. Slowly, he lifted his head to look at the owner of the pair of feet, though he could already guess who it was.

"Good morning," General Walsh said, before rounding back and kicking Jack in the face. Jack went momentarily limp, already weak from everything that his body had been put through in the past twenty-four hours. As he regained his senses, he forced his body to hold its own weight again, but two soldiers were already working on sawing off the ropes that were holding his wrists to the post. When his wrists, raw and red, were freed, Jack collapsed to the ground despite his attempts to maintain as upright as he could. Any strength that he thought he still possessed had left him. All he could do was listen to the General give his soldiers commands, "Put him back in the stable where the other slaves sleep. I'm sure they'll try to tend to him. Keep an extra guard near the medical tent to make sure nothing goes missing."

The two soldiers grabbed Jack by the arms and hoisted him up until his toes brushed the soil underneath him. Before they carted him away, Walsh put his face close to Jack's and grabbed his chin, forcing the injured boy to look at him, "I still expect your chores to be finished on time, every day."

He let Jack's head drop back to his chest and the next thing Jack knew, he was being unceremoniously tossed into the dark stall that was the sleeping place of the other slave boys. No one was there at the moment; they were all probably out working. The soldiers left without another word and Jack was alone, in a fetal position, breathing heavily and clutching the wound that Cook had given him. He could tell that the whip had cut into his back more than it had the last time he was tied to the post, but he dared not try to reach back to feel the damage; any movement at the moment was painful. Even breathing was difficult, because his lungs stretched his knife wound.

Jack was more miserable than he had ever been in his life.

As he lay there, Jack suddenly heard a tiny pattering sound. He didn't move until he felt something soft brush up against his stomach. Curiously, he opened his eyes to see Flossie, Mary's cat, rubbing up against him. She mewed softly, purring and staring into his eyes before curling up in the space between his chest and his legs. She mewed again and Jack saw more movement in the darkness. Along came Clancy, Clayton, Clifford, Flora and Poppy, the kittens. The five of them closed in on Jack and their mother, getting as close to her as they could. The extra bodies added warmth that Jack desperately needed.

"The whole motley crew," Jack whispered, smiling weakly as he scratched behind Flossie's ears, "I'm glad you all made it out of the fire safely."

With that, he passed out again.

~~GF~~

The next few times that Jack was awake were a blur. The times he slept were restless and painful and when he was awake, he was disoriented and delirious. There was always movement around him; people whispering and talking; the occasional uncomfortable scratching at his back. Cold fingers touched his shoulder blades and side and he would try to move away from the discomfort, unsure of whether it was a dream or not. Sometimes he was warm, other times he was freezing. Once he even thought he felt tears running down his face. Whether they were his, someone else's, or merely a dream, he would never know…

At last, Jack stirred and when he awoke, he could finally make sense of his surroundings. He was still in the stall and although he felt as though he'd been running just about everywhere in the world, he now knew that he had never left the confines of the four walls around him.

The first thing he noticed as his head stopped spinning and reality came crashing back was that Franklin was sitting beside him, staring off into the distance, his chin resting on his knees. Jack made to sit up and that brought Franklin's mind back to the present. He put a hand to Jack's chest and gently pushed him back down to the ground. Jack realized that the ground underneath him felt soft instead of scratchy like the hay he knew was there; the only blanket that the boys shared was being used to protect him from the cold and dirt.

Without a word, Franklin brought a bucket of water close and it sloshed around appetizingly. He cupped his hands and dipped them in the water and transferred his hands over to where Jack lay, carefully tipping a small amount of water into Jack's mouth. Jack thirstier than he had ever been, drank the water greedily until Franklin didn't offer him more.

Finally, he felt his throat was hydrated enough to allow him to speak; "Mary?"

"I'm Franklin," the dark boy said patiently, putting a hand on Jack's bare shoulder—his shirt had never been returned to him.

"I know that," Jack said, trying to shake the doziness from his mind, "I meant… where is she?"

"She's safe," Franklin's voice dropped to a whisper, "We found her a good hiding place. Don't worry."

Jack gave a lengthened sigh of relief. He turned back to his young friend, "You took her from the circle."

"I did," Franklin said.

"Thank you," Jack responded. His voice was weak, but he hoped that it didn't stop him from sounding grateful; he truly was.

"I gotta say, I was surprised when I heard she was a girl."

"I don't think you were the only one," Jack said, trying to lighten the topic a bit. He tried to sit up again, but Franklin wordlessly pushed him back down, clearly trying to be patient with his patient.

"You scared me real good," Franklin continued, "I thought you were gonna die."

"Believe me, for a while there, I thought I _was_ dead," Jack said. He gritted his teeth as he remembered his wounds. Slowly, he lifted the blanket covering his chest to check on his knife wound. Franklin didn't stop him. What Jack saw surprised him. The knife wound itself was obviously infected and badly bruised, but it was closed up with a series of messy, uneven stitches.

"Sam's pa is a doctor in their settlement," Franklin explained, referring to one of the boys that Jack had only briefly spoken to before, "He taught Sam how to sew people and slipped a needle and thread into his pocket before the Red Coats took him."

"How's my back?" Jack asked, dropping the blanket back over his chest.

"Well, it ain't a field of daisies back there, I can tell you that much. But it's healin'."

Jack nodded, satisfied with this answer. His back didn't feel as hot as it had the last time he let it come into the foreground of his consciousness, so that must have been a good sign.

"How long have I been out?" Jack asked the final question that was swirling around in his head.

"A few days," Franklin responded, picking at a stray thread in his trousers. Jack sat up suddenly and regretted it when he felt his healing wounds strain against the quick motion.

"How many days?" he asked again, "Exactly?"

"I don't know… they've all been kind of blurring together," Franklin responded, trying to push a now fully alert Jack back down onto his makeshift bed without much success.

"But… has Aaron…? Has anything happened?" Jack propped himself up. He was weak from being bedridden for so long, but he was still stronger than the younger boy. Franklin finally gave up and let Jack sit up. Flossie, who had been watching them from across the stable, walked over to him and settled herself in his lap, purring. This time, Jack didn't pet her, waiting with bated breath for what Franklin had to say.

Franklin shook his head, "Haven't heard from him or any Yanks."

Jack covered his face in his hands, his worst fear realized. Had Aaron gotten lost? Was he hurt, somewhere in the forest? Or worse, did he flat-out abandon the other boys once he had tasted freedom himself? No matter what the case, he had been their only hope for freedom. After Jack's second trip to the post, the boys were now less likely to want to get into trouble without the promise that anything good would come from it. If Aaron never turned up, they could all look forward to a life of permanent captivity.

"Maybe he's just lost…" Franklin said hopefully.

"Maybe," Jack allowed, but at this point, it was difficult to keep his hopes high.

~~GF~~

As the next few days passed with no sign of Aaron or any friendly troops, Jack found it difficult to feel happy when Sam, the doctor's son, told him that his wounds were apparently healing well. While Jack was on the mend, Franklin took over the chore of caring for their animals and in his spare time, stayed with Jack to keep his mind occupied. Every time Jack asked where Mary was, Franklin only told him that he'd show him once he could walk without wobbling around like a newborn calf.

After a full week passed since the incident, Jack and the other boys gave up all hope that they would ever taste liberty. With every day, Jack's strength returned to him bit-by-bit until he was able to stand and walk around the stable without injuring himself further. Sam still insisted on keeping the stitches in, but seemed overall satisfied with Jack's progress.

At long last, Franklin promised to show Jack where Mary was hidden away.

They had to wait until night, when only the night guards were up and staring off into the trees. Jack wondered how Franklin could have found such a hiding place that even soldiers who were hunting his sister couldn't find. Was she hiding in the forest? He couldn't see her disguising herself as a different slave boy…

Jack was surprised when Franklin led him to the ruins of the old barn. The ashes blew around Jack's ankles in the light wind, giving Jack a sense of foreboding. Franklin peered around to make sure no guards were looking their way and then began digging around in the vestiges.

"I found this a while before we burned down the barn, when you and Mary were playing," Franklin explained as he dug, "I was gonna tell you about it, but I got sick and forgot. I suppose the farmhand before us dug it for himself."

He uncovered a large metal doorway.

"It used to be wooden door, but I had to find something to replace it with," he whispered, "It was under the haystack in the corner of the barn where I always sat when I was sick."

"Amazing," Jack mumbled under his breath. After all the time he had spent hiding things away in the barn, he had never thought to look and see if anyone had had the idea before him. He tried to help Franklin lift the metal frame, but his back and side protested, so he stood back and watched instead. Franklin uncovered a series of stairs that led into a hole in the ground. It had the look of an old root cellar, but this one looked small and cramped and looked as though not much thought had been put into its construction. As Jack started down the hole, Franklin called in first, "It's just us."

Jack ducked his head to avoid hitting it on the overhanging beam that supported the earth above and was instantly grabbed and hugged by his sister, who began crying at the sight of him. He had never been so happy to see her and he hugged her tightly, ignoring the pain he felt. None of them said a word for several minutes, just happy to be in each other's company once again. Mary was covered in soot and dirt and her shaggy hair was a rat's nest. There was some dried blood on her face as well, but otherwise, she looked unharmed.

As he hugged his sister, Jack felt a refreshing wave of motivation wash over him. Being sick in bed all week had depressed him and caused him to lose hope. Upon seeing that his sister was safe, the old spark of defiance relit inside him and he knew that he couldn't give up. Aaron or no Aaron, he was getting Mary out of this hell.

Jack pulled his sister back from him, holding her by the shoulders, "Are you okay?"

She nodded, "You?"

"I'm fine," Jack said, partially telling the truth. He noticed something dangling around his sister's neck. Reaching over with his fingers, he grabbed a delicate chain. For a moment, he thought it was his mother's locket, but the charm at the end of the chain was not familiar to him.

"What's this?" he asked her. She opened her mouth to show two gaps where her teeth were missing.

"When the General kicked me, he knocked these out. I spat them onto the ground last week and when I woke up, this was where they had been." Mary explained. Jack examined the necklace. It looked to be some kind of fancy coin, but he couldn't tell what country it might be from. It was relatively heavy and thick.

"Well," he said finally, "I guess now we know the price for two teeth. Those were baby teeth, right?"

"Yes," Mary confirmed. Jack dropped the necklace and his landed back on Mary's chest. He pulled her close again and spoke though her shirt in a muffled voice, "I'm so glad you're safe."

"You too," Mary hugged him back.

After the siblings parted, Jack looked at Franklin and said, "I want you to get all the other boys to meet us in the stable stall."

"Now? Why?" Mary and Franklin asked in unison.

"Because," Jack said slowly, "We're escaping. Tonight."

Both of the younger children voiced their responses simultaneously, calling Jack insane and telling him not to push himself, but Jack wouldn't hear of it. They couldn't wait on Aaron any longer; nor could they continue living like they had been for the past couple of months. Jack started to walk back out of the makeshift cellar to dig up the knives he had buried beside the tree. Franklin and Mary followed him, hissing at him to stop.

Ignoring their demands, Jack began to scrape at the frozen dirt near the large, recognizable tree, pulling soil up in handfuls. After a while, Mary and Franklin gave up trying to talk Jack out of his absurd plan and decided to help him dig so he wouldn't strain his still-healing body. Finally, they pulled up the box of knives that Jack had stolen weeks before. Tonight, they would finally be put to the use Jack had intended.

"I knew it," the three children heard a low voice behind them and their hearts stopped. Turning around, they saw Cook standing there, his large figure outlined by the light of the moon, bearing over them like a large, deadly bulldog. He had a pistol in either hand and both were pointing at Jack, "I knew you were the one lifting my knives. It's a shame you survived your last flogging, but I'll see to it that you don't last another night."

Cook cocked his guns with his thumbs and stared with wide, malicious eyes at Jack as though deciding where best to shoot the young man. Jack didn't have time to react—but neither did Cook. Suddenly, the corpulent chef was bowled over by a small, dark figure. For a moment, Jack thought it might have been a wild animal taking its chance in the hunt, but upon closer inspection, he realized it was Mary, whom had responded to the situation with incredible swiftness. She had rammed her small body into Cook's larger one, using the element of surprise to her advantage as she quickly grabbed one of the guns from Cook's hand.

By the time Cook righted himself, Mary had the firearm pointing directly at his chest.

"If you touch my brother, you die," she hissed and Jack was shocked that such a sentence could come from his little sister. Months of enslavement had hardened her and she was no longer the quivering little girl that had been brought into the camp.

"I don't need to touch him to kill him," Cook said, pointing his remaining pistol at Jack once again. Franklin grabbed Jack's shoulder as though he were preparing to toss Jack aside to save him, but Jack knew that if Cook was going to shoot him, there wasn't much Franklin could do about it. Cook continued, "If you shoot me, missy, I'll make sure the last thing I ever do is pull this God-dammed trigger."

"Mary," Jack said to his sister, "Put the gun down and walk away. It's okay; I'll be fine. Just walk away and I'll meet up with you in a little while."

"You're lying, Jack," Mary said perceptively, not taking her eyes off of Cook. The two of them were having an intense stare-down.

"Mary," Jack tried again, "take Franklin and leave. Please. Don't do this."

"Listen to your brother, girl," Cook said, "He knows he's gonna die either way; he just doesn't want you to see it. You're not brave enough to pull that trigger, just like you're not brave enough to stay and watch. Walk away and I'll deal with you later. There's still the stolen bread to be paid by your hand."

"Mary," Jack got her attention again, talking over Cook, "Go. Please. Go."

Mary's eyes shot back and forth now between the chef and her brother and Jack could see that she was conflicted. She had never disobeyed Jack before, not even when she didn't agree with him. He could see that she wanted so badly to protect him, but Cook was right; she had never shot a gun before.

The moment of hesitation in her eyes flickered out and she straightened her faltering gun arm, pointing it once again at Cook, resolved.

"No," she said harshly.

"Have it your way," Cook sneered.

A gunshot rang out.

~~GF~~

_Who shot who? Yes, I'm evil. I apologize. Hopefully I'll have the next chapter out soon!_


	8. Liberty

_Sorry, it took a little longer to get this out than I wanted… when I finally had a chance to work on it, I realized I'd saved it on my work computer and I was at home. Bummer! Anyway, thanks for waiting and here it is… the FINAL chapter! Thank you to everyone for reading and for those of you who took the time to write reviews! This is the first time I've written fanfiction in a looooooong time, so I was really happy that it was so well-received._

_You guys are the best!_

_Onward!_

~~GF~~

Blood blossomed across Cook's chest. His small eyes grew wide in shock and he looked at Mary as though he couldn't believe what had just happened. Slowly, he looked down and put a hand to his chest where a fresh bullet had just imbedded itself. When he pulled his hand away, there was a very surreal look on his face and he toppled over.

Jack leaned in to check on him warily. The large man was laying on his back and breathing heavily, his hand still pressed against his wide chest, his eyes narrow and dangerous as he glared back at his young nemesis.

"Mary," Franklin said, looking at Mary, shocked. Jack looked at her as well. Her eyes were wide and she looked shaken. But Jack saw that her gun was still cocked; she hadn't fired. In a moment of confusion, he checked himself for a gunshot wound, thinking that the cook had shot him after all and he had somehow not felt it, but there was no extra blood on the stained shirt that the slave boys had retrieved for him.

The sound of the ringing gunshot had alerted the watchmen and there were now shouts from around the camp as they conversed with one another loudly. None of the other soldiers had emerged from their tents.

Suddenly, there was a rustling from beyond the border of the forest and Jack turned just in time to see dark figures approaching. His chest swelled, hope rising in his heart further than it had in weeks.

The Yankees were closing in on the British camp.

He had always expected the moment of the Yankee arrival to be a loud and rowdy affair, but the men that were coming closer through the trees were being stealthy and quiet, hoping to keep their location a secret from the watchmen until the last possible moment. They snuck like wraiths around trees and over branches. Jack knew that the Yankee military was merely a ragtag group of soldiers, but tonight, these men were on a mission.

Cook looked at where Jack was staring and saw the movement as well. His eyes widened again and he drew a deep breath and shouted as loudly as he could, which cost him quite a lot of blood.

"To arms! The Yanks are in the trees!"

With that, he lifted his pistol-carrying hand, aimed it at Mary and before anyone had time to react, he pulled the trigger.

Mary dropped to her knees and then fell forward, laying still. Jack's world stopped as the blood drained from his face. He felt sick as he kneeled on the ground where he had been when Cook first arrived on the scene. Time seemed to freeze in that moment and he felt tears well up in his eyes. He heard shouting around him as the Red Coats were trying to shake themselves awake and prepare for a battle, but Jack didn't care. Suddenly, nothing mattered.

Franklin rushed to Cook and kicked the now-useless pistol from Cook's hand. He then dropped to his knees next to Mary, rolling her over into his lap, putting an ear to her chest and listening intently.

"Jack!" he said suddenly, "She's alive!"

Jack could have cried and he very nearly did as his legs pushed him up, despite the protest coming from his wounds. When he reached Mary, Franklin deposited the tiny frame into Jack's hands and he felt for her pulse. It was there, strong as ever. No blood.

Mary's eyes fluttered open and she looked from Jack to Franklin, momentarily confused. After her brain caught up to the present, she sat up quickly. Jack and Franklin made noises of concern, in case she was hurt and they just didn't see it, but she swiveled around on her backside and looked at both of them.

"How is that possible? He shot you… didn't he?" Jack asked, bewildered.

"Yes, I felt it hit… my chest feels sore…" Mary said, feeling her torso for any damage.

"She gets shot and her chest just feels sore," Jack said, laughing at how that sounded, but he was eternally grateful that it was the reality of the situation. Mary gave a small sound of recognition and she pulled something out from her shirt; it was the heavy, thick coin necklace that someone had replaced her teeth with. It no longer mattered what country the coin came from, or why her teeth had been traded for it; this beautiful coin had just saved her life.

Jack reached over and pulled Mary into a quick hug, tears of relief in his eyes, but he was quickly brought back to the present. The Yankee soldiers were approaching swiftly now that Cook had told the watchmen that there really was trouble at hand; Jack was able to catch the color of the clothing of the closest men now. As they advanced closer, one man aimed his musket at the three children.

"Don't shoot!" Jack said, loud enough for him to hear, holding up his hand, fingers stretched, "We're on your side! We're captured slaves."

The man lowered his musket and eyes the children curiously.

"We're here to help you," he whispered. The trees were still blocking him from the view of the Red Coats who were now searching everywhere they could for their attackers. "Are there more of you?"

"Yes, but I'm the oldest," Jack said, "Anyone who looks younger than me is on our side."

The man nodded and looked back to his fellow soldiers. They were all wearing regular trousers and neutral-colored shirts that looked worse for wear. One man among them was dressed in what appeared to be a sort of uniform; it didn't look much fancier than what his men were wearing, but it was obvious that this man was the leader. He gave a swift nod to the men on either side of him and they took off, narrowing the distance between themselves and the Red Coats. Several shots began ringing out and Red Coat soldiers were dropping as they tried to find where the attack was coming from.

The leading soldier kneeled down on his haunches to look Jack in the eye and asked calmly, but seriously, "Do you know where I can find the leader of this camp?"

"He usually spends his time in that cabin over there," Jack explained, pointing a finger across the camp to the small building that was one of the two remaining buildings in the area. The leader gave Jack a smile and patted his shoulder before standing up, pulling a pistol from the inside of his jacket and a rapier from his belt.

"Try to gather the other boys as best as you can," he ordered, "keep them safe and when we're finished here, we'll take you back to our camp. You've done well."

Jack, who was no longer used to being treated so cordially by adults, was too taken aback to respond in kind to the man before he took off toward where General Walsh surely resided.

"What do we do now?" Franklin asked.

"We do what the man says; get all the boys together," Jack answered. He stood up slowly, pulling Mary to her feet. What a group they looked to be; there was Jack, who was beat up, Mary, who had just been shot and Franklin, who had only recently gotten over his own illness. Jack suddenly felt fingers wrap around his ankle and he looked down to see Cook staring back at him. His eyes were no longer wide with shock or narrow with contempt; they were pleading. The tables had finally been turned and it was now Jack who held the fate of his adversary in his hands.

Jack pulled his foot back, out of the reach of the Cook who was lying on the ground, no longer able to move, his lifeblood still seeping onto his shirt that was already dampened and red. Slowly, he leaned forward and reached into the man's pocket, wrapping his fingers around the chain of his mother's locket. He put the locket around his neck, hoping that it would keep him and his sister safe as his mother had said. Then, in what was easily the coldest moment of his life, Jack picked up the box of knives, took Mary by the hand, gave Franklin a nod of the head, and steered them away from the chef, leaving the man to himself in his final moments.

~~GF~~

As a battle raged around them, gunshots firing almost constantly, Jack, Mary and Franklin ran together towards the stable where they knew some of the boys were bound to have taken shelter in the chaos. They were right; all six of their roommates, as well as several straggler slave boys were hiding away, crouched in the corners. When Jack, Mary and Franklin entered, some of the boys screamed, but then noticed who it was in front of them. They all stood up in unison, walking closer to Jack, who began to pass out knives, starting with the older boys and working his way down to the younger ones until he reached the boys who he felt were too young. They took the knives solemnly, their jaws set. The moment they had been waiting for was finally upon them, but now that it was there, they weren't sure they had the courage to carry out the most dangerous part.

"There are other slaves out there, trapped in the gunfire. If you have a knife, it means you need to go outside with me and help to guide them here; if you don't have a knife, stay in here and keep each other safe," Jack ordered, "We need to gather any other slaves together so that we're ready to leave when the Yanks are. I won't lie; some of us might die out there, but never leave your friends behind, no matter what. Be men that your fathers can be proud of."

The boys nodded and although Jack had essentially promised death to them, his words made them feel braver and stronger. Without another word, the boys with knives slipped past Jack and the others and into the nightmare that was the furious battle. Jack handed Franklin a knife. Franklin nodded and followed the other boys. Finally, Jack turned to Mary, who held out her hand for a knife.

"No," Jack said simply. Mary became instantly defensive.

"You can't decide that, Jack!" she said, "I want to help. Besides, you're hurt more."

"You've done enough," he told her, sincerity covering every word, "You saved my life tonight, Mary. I know I can count on you to do what's best for the boys in here."

Mary looked as though she were ready to continue arguing, but closed her mouth. With finality, she nodded. Jack pulled her close in a quick hug, which she reciprocated. Jack turned on his heel and left her and the other boys behind.

Almost as soon as he exited the stable, he collided with an older man. The two fell over and when Jack looked to see if it were friend or foe, confusion caught him for a fleeting moment. He was looking back at what appeared to be an older version of him, with a beard.

"Pa?" Jack said, finally realizing who it was.

"…Jack? Jack!" Paul Overland righted himself and scrambled over to pull his son into a bear hug. "Thank God…"

Jack wrapped his arms around his father, grabbing fistfuls of the older man's shirt as he clung to him, allowing himself a brief moment where he could, for once in this camp, be the comforted child. Paul, being a man of brief, yet sincere displays of affection, pulled Jack from him within a few seconds.

"Where is your sister?"

"In the stall, just there," Jack said, pointing his thumb to where he had just come from. Paul nodded.

"You've done well, Jack. I'm proud of you."

Jack grinned at his father and the two of them stood up, but were quickly forced to duck again as a gunshot exploded the wooden door frame behind them. Paul, who had been carrying a musket, quickly looked for the culprit, aimed and shot. A dead ringer.

"Pa, the other boys are finding stray slaves in the area and sending them here. I've got to help them," Jack explained quickly to his father. Paul regarded his son and nodded.

"Do what you have to do," he said and he was off, shooting at several Red Coats that had his friends cornered. Jack didn't have time to watch his farmer father in action, so he quickly stood up, disregarding his knife wound and ran into the fray. What was really only about twenty minutes of gunfire seemed like forever to Jack as he ducked, crawled, ran and otherwise scrambled anywhere he could think that the missing slave boys would be taking cover. He found several hiding in the outhouse and escorted them back to the stable. As most of his assailants were firing from a distance, Jack didn't have to resort to using his knife, but he still felt safer carrying it around with him.

When he went to the officer's cabin, he chanced a peek inside the window and was shocked to see General Walsh laying face down on the floor, his eyes open and blank, blood pooling underneath him. The Yankee leader had already done his job and moved on.

Behind the cabin, he found several boys taking cover, Franklin amongst them. His young friend had done a good job of finding those who had hidden; he had five or six boys behind him. When he saw Jack, he gave a quick smile and motioned for the older boy to crouch down with them.

"I'm not sure how to get everyone across this field," Franklin admitted once Jack was within earshot.

"Maybe you could walk around the perimeter?" Jack suggested.

Franklin gave him a questioning look, "What's that?"

"A perimeter—it's… um… around the border of the trees," Jack explained, pointing his finger, demonstrating the pathway.

The dark boy nodded and said, "That's a good idea." He motioned for the other boys to follow him and quickly took off, running in front of the trees, but out of the fray. Jack watched them go for a while before he decided to continue his search for anyone who hadn't been found yet; although it seemed the majority of them were now safe, or on their way to safety.

Exhausted from exerting so much energy while still on the mend, Jack had to grip the corner of the cabin that he was hiding behind to pull himself up. He looked out at the battle to catch up on who may be winning. More and more Red Coats were laying on the ground, dead or dying. There were still many who were standing, but they were quickly becoming outnumbered. Jack was able to pick out a surprisingly still-standing Lieutenant General Quagmire, whose age did not deter him from representing his prowess on the battlefield. He swung his cane and fired his musket skillfully and although they were on opposite sides, Jack couldn't help but feel admiration for the man who had shown him relative kindness in his time here.

Quagmire stopped his fighting when no soldiers were left around him and he too began casting his gaze around. He caught sight of Franklin and the other boys who were running around the edge of the forest. For a moment, Jack thought he was going to let them go, more concerned with the remaining Yankee soldiers, but it was not to be done. He reloaded his pistol with ease and pointed it at the row of boys who were almost like ducks in a carnival game, lined up perfectly.

Suddenly understanding Quagmire's intention, Jack ran towards the old man with a panicked hope that he could reach and disable him in time. When he realized he wouldn't make it, he turned to the boys and shouted as loudly as he could, "FRANKLIN!"

Franklin stopped and turned to look at where the voice had come from, but then his curious eyes widened in shock and pain. Blood spouted from his throat and he fell to his knees. The other boys panicked and scattered, some running into the trees, some continuing along the border at a faster pace and some running back from where they had come. Everything went quiet for Jack. Franklin… poor Franklin, who had never known freedom; who had only just started to taste it… no…

Without thinking, Jack ran towards where Franklin lay, in the open. He pulled the boy up roughly, hoping that the same miracle that had been performed for Mary earlier would now be passed to his only other friend in the camp. The blood running down Franklin's throat and onto Jack's hands told him the painful and true reality of the situation. He lowered Franklin into his lap, tears formed in his eyes as he watched the dark boy try to catch his breath. When Franklin realized that Jack was supporting him, he looked up at the brown-haired boy.

"I… never told… you…" he quivered, his words hoarse and strained as he spoke through his injury. Jack didn't tell him to stay quiet; he knew that Franklin understood his condition and instead listened for what Franklin deemed important to say, "My papa's dead… my… mama's dead too… you said to… to make my papa proud… but he's not here no more… so… I wanted to—to make you… proud… instead."

Jack opened his mouth to respond but all that came out was a loud cry that even took him by surprise. Once he started, he couldn't stop crying, and buried his head in Franklin's chest, his shoulders trembling as he sobbed. Franklin waited mutely, hanging on to whatever life left that he had left in him.

When Jack felt that he could keep himself together, he raised his head and choked out, "I am so proud of you."

Franklin smiled peacefully, his eyes clouding over, "Tha's good…"

"Your mama and papa are too. I know it." Jack continued quietly, tears escaping from his eyes and landing on Franklin's face. Franklin started to nod, but stopped when it hurt his neck. He gave a deep cough and his expression screwed up painfully.

"Tell Mary… I'm glad she was… my friend, too…. I'm so happy she named me… Franklin…"

His eyelids trembled for a moment and then closed. He took several large breaths, each becoming more peaceful until finally he inhaled deeply, gave a shuddering exhale and was gone.

Jack didn't know what do to. He needed to make sure the other boys got to the stable safely, but he didn't want to leave Franklin's body here. Setting his jaw to hold off whatever pain was to come from his wounds, he pulled Franklin's arm up and over his shoulder, hauling the boy up, carrying him in a fireman hold, and made for the stables.

Unfortunately, the time Jack had taken to help his friend pass, Quagmire had used to reload his pistol and take up another one from the ground. He pointed both at Jack and fired them simultaneously.

Jack's luck that night, which had helped him to avoid gunfire, was gone. There was a burning sensation in his thigh that spread with the shock of the bullet. The second bullet entered through his stomach, causing the muscles he was using to carry Franklin's weight to give out. Jack crumpled to the ground, Franklin's body landing on top of him and rolling off. He didn't stand up; he couldn't. He was spent.

Quagmire limped over to Jack, reloading his pistol once again. When he reached the young boy, he took aim at Jack's face. Jack didn't have the energy to do anything except stare down the barrel of the revolver, thoughts of death running through his mind.

"Admirable though your intentions to save your friends were, I am duty-bound to end the lives of those who are actively fighting against us," Quagmire said to Jack, cocking his weapon. There was a moment of silence between the two of them as they regarded each other, the chaos of the battle around them ignored.

Jack could no longer hold his eyes open. He was losing consciousness quickly, his blood draining. Death was near; he could feel it. His eyes fully shut and he waited almost serenely for Quagmire to pull the trigger.

Darkness spread from the corners of his mind, consuming his awareness as it moved until he slipped into an unnatural sleep.

~~GF~~

The first thing Jack could tell through his eyelids was that it was now light outside and he was warm and comfortable. He didn't want to open his eyes just yet and instead took count of what he could feel. There was a pillow under his head and he could feel a blanket covering his bare chest. He moved his head slightly to the side and suddenly there was a small hand being placed on his chest.

"Jack?" he heard a familiar voice ask, but he couldn't identify it; his mind was still pulling itself from slumber. The voice called again, "Jack?"

Jack opened his eyes blearily and he had to close them again quickly; he hadn't expected the light to be so bright. He tried to open his eyes again, with more success this time. A pair of familiar brown eyes met his. Mary was leaning over him, examining his face as he became more aware of his surroundings.

He tried to sit up, but a larger hand held him down by the shoulder.

"Whoa, there, son," his father said, sitting on his other side. Paul and Mary both looked relatively at ease, so Jack could tell that the fight was over. They were inside a medium-sized tent and Jack was lying on a small mat on the ground. In the corner of the tent, Mary's kittens were playing with each other. He wondered briefly where Flossie was until he realized that there was a warm weight curled up on his lap. There were no other occupants in the tent; just the three family members and the cats.

"Did we win?" was the first thing Jack thought to ask. Mary laughed and Paul chuckled.

"Yes, we won, thanks to you," Paul's brown eyes twinkled as he winked at his son, "Mary told me what you did to protect everyone in that camp; I am so proud of both of you."

"What took you so long to get to the camp?" Jack asked, picking harmless fun at his father. Mary decided to answer instead.

"Aaron blames you for that," she explained, giggling, "He said 'that was _not_ a one-day journey—Jack better not become a mapmaker—ever.'" She imitated Aaron's voice. Jack and his father chuckled, Jack placing a hand on his stomach to sooth the pain caused by his laughter. Without warning, his laugh stopped and Mary and Paul watched him apprehensively as his eyes donned a look of immense grief.

He looked at Mary and said quietly to her, "Franklin…"

"I know," she replied, equally as quiet. She lowered her head and stared at her lap miserably. Paul sighed heavily and placed a large hand on the shoulders of each of his children. Mary's face screwed up in anguish and she buried her face in her hands, crying. Giving Jack a meaningful look, Paul walked around Jack's bedding, crouched down and wrapped his arms around his daughter, stroking her shaggy hair and rocking gently back and forth.

"There, now," he rumbled softly, "It's alright. He's free… he's finally free…"

~~GF~~

Jack learned in the next two weeks that the camp's soldiers with whom he was currently residing, had been actively purging the land of the Red Coats for some time. Campfire stories of heroism were recalled nightly and through them, the newly freed children learned that many of the girls had already been rescued from their own enslavement and sent home. There were many out there still, but the men promised to find them as soon as they could.

After a time, Jack was finally allowed to walk stiffly around camp, with crutches that had been roughly fashioned for him by a woodcarving soldier. According to the doctor who frequently visited him, he had been lucky to survive the shot to the stomach. The other wounds such as the knife gash and the bullet to Jack's thigh, though deep and serious, had luckily missed vital organs and veins. The bullets had to be surgically removed, but once they were gone, Jack was promised that he would return to his normal speed in no time—if he diligently took the medicines and did the exercises that the doctor had prescribed to him.

Once he was well enough to travel, a wagon and team of soldiers were arranged to escort the boys to their homes across the territory. Mary and Jack both spent all the time they could with their father for they knew that it could be years before they saw him again.

Finally, it was time to say good-bye. Mary carried her basket of kittens and Jack leaned on his crutches and they said their farewells to their father. He bent forward to adjust the scarf that had been wrapped around Mary's head for warmth and hugged her tightly. Then he turned to Jack and gave him a clap on the shoulder.

"Give your mother my love," he said.

"We will," Mary said. She smiled through the sadness of this departure, knowing that at the end of road, their mother was surely waiting for them with open arms. After giving her father one last hug, she crawled into the wagon, placing her basket beside her and curling her knees up to her chest as other boys boarded. Some of them, Aaron included, also had fathers in the same camp and they, too, were speaking quietly to each other.

"You'd better get in the wagon too, son," Paul said gruffly. Though he was a tough farmer, his daughter had always had the power to reach inside and pull out the sensitive side to him and her goodbye had gotten to him. He helped Jack limp to the edge of the wagon and held his crutches while Jack rolled carefully into the opening, wincing slightly.

Jack took the crutches from his father, but then suddenly had a thought, "Wait."

He dug into his pocket and pulled out his mother's locket. Giving it one final stare, he dropped it into his father's waiting hand.

"She gave it to me to keep us safe. I think she's want you to have it now," Jack explained. His father gave a chuckle and hooked it around his neck, hiding the heart with the collar of his shirt to protect it.

"Thank you," he said, "Take care of them."

"I will," Jack promised.

After the rest of the boys were loaded into the wagon and the soldiers were ready, the procession took off into the forest, heading first for Burgess. Trees swallowed up their view of the camp and their father. Jack and Mary sat together quietly, Mary with one hand in the basket, teasing the kittens with her fingers.

"Jack," Mary said finally, "Thank you."

"For what?" he asked honestly.

Mary opened her mouth to answer, but paused, realizing just how many things she could list off. When the number in her eyes grew, she closed her mouth with a smile and said simply, "Everything."

Jack smiled and rubbed a hand through her bangs the way his mother used to for him. He leaned towards her and kissed her forehead. They settled in for the long ride home and Jack lost himself to his thoughts. He closed his eyes, remembering Franklin's death and wondering what had happened to Quagmire if he hadn't shot Jack. Not that he wanted to know. Jack wished dearly that Franklin were in this wagon with them, chatting and asking Mary to teach him how to write big words. Though Franklin's parents were gone, Jack knew that there would have always been a place for him at the Overland's table. Franklin had given his life to protect others and Jack hoped that if he were to die, it would be doing something just as heroic. He promised to himself and to Franklin's memory that he would dedicate the rest of his life to doing his best to defend children that needed protecting.

And so, on his way home went a guardian before his time.

~~GF~~

_Holy crudmuffins, it's done! Thank you SO much to everyone for reading and reviewing! I hope you'll drop one last review before you leave! I love hearing everyone's thoughts on the story!_

_Edit: Oh, I wanted to apologize for killing Franklin. I can't believe how attached I got to his character! I had written for him to die when I was plotting the story, but the entire time I wrote, I kept going back and forth on whether I actually wanted to do it. In the end, I decided that I really wanted the story to end just as it started; with just Jack and Mary. _

_For those who may be wondering, I don't have any ideas for new stories just yet, so if you'd like to keep up with me and my work, I spend more time on my DeviantART account, also under the name Golden-Flute. The URL to my DA account is on my fanfiction profile, if you're interested at all. :)_

…_Jeez, I had so much more that I wanted to say, but now I can't remember a single thing! Curse you, short memory!_

_Anyway, all the best to you guys!_

_GF_


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